A thousand eyes are fixed on your glory.
The fabric on your skin narrates your story.
The metal on your hands is a tribute to friends and freaks.
And to those who analyze the color on your cheeks.
The height on your feet are an excuse to ignore.
The gloss in your hair is consolation for your ache and sore.
You are sheltered in the aura of grace and class.
As you admire yourself in the looking glass.