As I sit here
mindlessly stroking my nails
with the black brush
covered in red pain
my mind is millions of miles away
these thoughts swirl through my head
like the brush and the red paint
completely opposing forces
yet coming together
I wonder what I'm even doing
Why does it even matter
if my nails are pink or red or clear?
Who decided that this insignificant action
would be so important in my life?
Why is my hair and my make up
the only thing anyone cares about?
It feels as if I'm not a size two
with absolutely perfect hair
and gorgeous eyes accentuated
by the perfect outfit and make up
then I have failed in someway.
But who would I have failed?
Not myself, just everyone else.
Yet I proceed in this mindless task
of perfecting my long nails
so that someone will look at them
and either notice me
or wish they were me.