unaccompanied

She’s an artist of sort
With her brushes and paints
But she doesn’t use canvas
Its option she stain

Around certain friends
She paints on a grin
So she can be all the rage
So she can fit in

With other acquaintances
She’s thunderous and obscene
It’s the aim of the fixture
To be rowdy and mean

Close to her kin
She’s quite and bashful
They hardly take notice
If she is nearby

When she’s with the guys
She’s a rag and a flirt
She gives and gives
Ignoring the hurt

The people close at hand
They anticipate and implore
That they could be popular
Like her one day

But when she’s unaccompanied
She breaks down and cries
For there is no answer
To “who am I”