It’s dark, yet I am tempted to turn the flash back on,

Tired of the bright lights, don't increase the exposure,

but expose who’s always running away from 

their numbers of followers.

They continue to follow me, and they run and run

 It’s the end of the corner, more lost then found

I’m not the girl with the rich colored garbs, 

Nor the girl who has eyes that are keen and sharp,

They only find a fool making silly faces, 

trying to shake off the heavy weight,

My face isn’t glossed, but covered from my leftover oil paints.

The fool that I am plays and creates, 

Because I am more than just a two-dimensional portrait,

Or a dead face that is stuck within a frame,

I have grown back into my childish ways, 

and rejected the serious and lonely posed face.