She had donned the perfect little black dress

Worn high heels, used cosmetics expensive

Carried a fabulous handbag, but she did confess-

Despite the investment in her looks extensive

Despite the appreciative stares from the crowd

Despite knowing that stunning she appeared

Her happiness was eclipsed by the cloud

Of a voice that had its disruptive head reared..

“This is not you”- her conscience reprimanded

“Do you get fulfilment from this masquerade?”

The persistent voice within her soul demanded..

She knew the answer though she was torn

Seeing successful women she had fantasized

For many years, of being a glamorous icon

Now that she was there, she was being chastised

By none other than her own conscience

She looked like a generic socialite, it was true

Being out of place, she lacked the confidence

That is worn by the glamorous women true blue..

Once she had stepped out of the party

She realized how stifling it had been throughout

She would never try to belong to the glitterati

This kind of glamor she could do without..

**
Back in her domain (an intellectual one), she realized

She was truly glamorous in her own way

When she wore confidence like an accessory prized

She could steal the thunder from anyone, any day!