Makeup (your mind)

Written for my 7th grade English classes unit on poetry.
Poem about my experiences preforming double duty, a member of the cast AND the makeup artist. For some odd reason, offering to help someone with their makeup can make them incredibly hostile! :)

It's an hour till the first show,

and everyone's running about like little ants.

Cries of

"Where is it?!"

come together to form an anxious chorus.

I sit in the dressing rooms downstairs,

people ignoring my futile attempts at my job.

I had arrived hours ago,

dressed and done up already,

anticipating the hordes of actors that had greeted me at my last show.

I sat amid the buzz of excitement around me,

walking around occasionally walking around to avoid yet another bronzer calamity.

At rare intervals I am stopped,

someone asking for assistance,

but only if they absolutely cannot do it themselves.

Looking around I cringe at the methods of some in the room,

and try to speak to a few.

When I ask if I can help them I am met with hostility,

an emotion that should be familiar to someone with a job like mine,

still it stings,

so I walk off as to not create a scene.

20 minutes till showtime has girls and boys alike running up to me,

almost in tears,

because they're makeup is messed up!

I sigh deeply but help anyhow,

because despite it all,

it will always be fun.

The End

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