The Ball

My nails are never painted perfectly,


If I have a canvas and a brush,

And an assortment of watercolors,

I can paint a picture.

Every time I try,

To paint my nails,

There's bubbles,

And uneven layers,

And ugly splatters of paint on,

My fingers.

I try to paint them, and

Look prettier,


I guess I'm getting the message.

My nails are not beautiful,

I can't lie to people.

I am an artist...

What am I even talking about?

My toenails are worse,


I guess nothing is right,

That's all.

Besides, nail polish smells nasty.

So does the stuff you use,

To take it off.

Getting all dolled-up for the ball,

Means throwing on,

A change of clothes,

And running, with,

Bare feet,

And a free smile,

Until I'm at the front door,

Of the party house.

I do not need,

To coat my hands,

With paint,

To make myself seem more pretty,

Than I actually am.

Lying makes a person ugly,

In a physical way.

I mean,

I'd rather have yellow teeth,

Than a plastic white smile.

Who honestly cares?

I wasn't aware anyone did.

But I brush my teeth,


I have nothing to worry about,

On my way to the ball.

The party.

The End

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