This might be the year
When I discover the secrets
To living in a home,
That doesn't look lived in.
A home with shiny polished floors,
Elaborate five course meals, and
Heavily laden dining tables
Complete with napkin rings and table runners.
This might be the year when
I learn secrets to
The art of conversation
Or the secret to looking elegant,
To attend dinner parties
And be the most interesting person in the room.
Or to be the woman
Who gets invited to one.
This just may be the year
When I unlock the secret
To having hair that behaves itself,
To having a cordial relationship
With my body,
To owning a pair of white shoes, so spotless,
That it seems to everybody else
That I walk on air.
This may be the year
When I become like the others
And I smile, nod, and agree
But then again...
Maybe not.
Maybe I'll just continue to be me.
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