Clown, Carnival, And The Lone Sock

The garish colors seem commonplace
It is after all the Carnival
Where the awkward is on show
And despair painted on the Clown's face
One wanders into the hall of horrors
The naked you reflecting on every crevice
You point and laugh
There is you that is wide and conical
Stretched and twisted another
And then there's that one
You look, you pause, you laugh
An unsure self-depricating one
You recognize the real you
That which lies in wait to be claimed
Quite like the Lone Sock
After many cycles of wash and dry
Has lost its other somewhere
And now lies on top of the laundry
Inevitably finding its way
Pushed way back in the dresser
Remaining quite forgotten
Till you one day walk in
Looking for a pair to mismatch
Specifically
Hands reaching all the way to the back
And soon you have the war paint on
You are to make people laugh
Thats what Clowns do.