Atention creeper

A night out in the clubs!

I pluck a pincushion doll from inside my prison of vanity-

an effigy swollen in flattery.

 

I'm not who they need to know,

but i go looking for the best of me, make them impressions-

first and foremost.

 

formal platitudes and their favourite words on the tip of my tongue-

but I refuse myself the pleasure to humour, or flatter them fake.

 

But I'm patronised with each pin plucked-

My sentiments sucked to an invisible form-

They can't see me now, less I perform!

 

I grab character, my self on a platform,

I dance for them to see- my self reborn,

Are all eyes watching?

No!

I march to the beat of my own hum drum state.

 

When i fail to impress the shadows arnt hard to find,

they look right through me,

and i wonder is it me, or them that's blind?