A poem, of sorts.

This girl puts on her bright shiny new façade for all to see.
It is polished to within an inch of its life, has been lightly buffed and lacquered to a fine finish, and all who gaze upon its ultimate perfect ness coo and craw at how beautiful it is.
She looks in the mirror and takes a moment to congratulate herself heartily on how marvellously fine it all worked out. All that fuss and bother from such a long time ago really came out well in the wash and look at what I am left with.
My bright shiny new façade.
Each morning she carefully brings it out. Delicately she washes, dries, and buffs it back to its former glory to bring out the shine and that special sparkle that everyone so loves to see.
It must be handled gingerly and with the up most care, only ever entrusted to one person.
For only she knows how keep it safe, her bright shiny new façade.
At the merest hint of bad weather, mad mood, or bad timing she whisks it away from public view so as not let it crack with the humidity or tension in the air.
Must protect it.
My bright shiny new façade.
She breaths a sigh of relief and marvels at how close she came to letting it slip, probably because of the weathered elastic that freys around the edges.
She makes a note with in her head ‘must buy new elastic, strong enough to keep it secure’
“Silly old thread” she giggles to herself as she strokes it tenderly.
Her bright shiny new façade.