Hard Gloss

Thrift store find, a cheap box, dark wood.

Lacquered, thick, like it misunderstood

what beauty meant. A surface so deep,

it felt like secrets it could keep.

The store lights bounced, a warped, bright smear,

reflecting all the dusty atmosphere.

It felt cold, hard, untouchable to me,

a false front for reality.

Trying too hard, to shine and hide

the cheapness that was locked inside.

A hard, thin shell, a practiced gleam,

more artifice than a real dream.