Little Fool

For my thirteenth birthday,

You gave me clown shoes.

They were red with big toes

And always left a bruise.

I said, “I needed ballet shoes.”

And you said, “They wouldn’t fit.”

“But aren’t there more sizes?”

You said, “No,” and, “This is it.”

I started to try and break them in

A little bit each day.

I’d walk around with giant feet

Until the soles decayed.

It took a lot of walking

For them to get that far.

But practice makes perfect,

And I was born to be a star.

.

I walked around the town

In my old clown shoes.

I would make the people ‘round me laugh

And never miss my cues.

Sometimes my friends would ask me

The reason for my dress.

And I’d reply, as my parents did,

With: “This way is the best.”

Because it’s always better

To be self aware when you are foolish.

And if I didn’t paint my face like this,

I would look quite ghoulish.

My parents taught me right from wrong

And that I was always the latter.

They’d sit me in the hall of mirrors

And wait for them to shatter.

.

I still wear my clown shoes

Every single day

And try to paint my face

In different colours, different ways.

I look into the mirror shards

And carefully line my eyes.

I don’t always look pretty

But at least it’s a good disguise.

Maybe one day I’ll go out

Without my costume or my face.

But if I saw someone I knew

It would be such a disgrace.

I’m hiding in plain sight

And giving everyone a show.

I’m really just a little clown, a fool.

But they can’t know.