Flattery prickles rough on my skin.
Greasy fingers of an opportunist, trailing down my arm.
My true beauty is not being seen.
Only my use and what could be done.
You like my smile and how my eyes shine.
I’m the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen.
I’m not a thing, I’m a me.
“Go away”, I say.
Leave me be.
Another can notice my wit, my cheery personality.
They will see.
*Picture is a drawing I did with chalks.