A jaded cackle escapes my lips
as you nodded "puppet head" in my direction.
With a quizzical brown you questioned
the paint upon my face, and the purpose of it.

A tiredness overwhelmed my body
suddenly fatigued by the plight
of continually having to explain oneself
and armor ones choice from a misunderstanding world.

Compare me to a puppet doll if you wish,
the opinions you will draw of me based upon my face
fathom me little.

I paint my face for me, and only me
spending much time fussing over which shade of berry
suits my mood and attitude of how to tackle this dreary world today.