Hands Full of Sequin Crap

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I put on a Facade like it's makeup .

That mirror image haunts me.

I'm selling cosmetics for living , and it daunts me.

I want to be an author. I don't want to be a corporate slave.

I don't want to tell women what to paint their faces with all day.

I want to paint a picture using my words, and go the extra mile.

Everyday I greet those bastard customers with a smile.

I wear that  smile like they're stilletos , because in the end I'm still fumbling  about.

They say you can polish a turd all you want, but no matter what it's still crap, no doubt.

In this case it's Sequin crap. Some girls would kill for a job like mine .

I still feel like it's not cloud nine . 

 

I want to go to school and do some learning.

But I'm behind that counter at work yearning.

My boyfriend says: " What about debt and loans? ".

Nonetheless I can feel it deep inside my bones.

I want this more than anything . I don't want to cease this opportunity . I want my heart and mind finally combined in unity.
 

 

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