Disco Ball

I hesitate to publish this one. I will say I was very irritated when I wrote it, but you should also know that the person described in this is quite misrepresented, and has changed enough now that the character in the poem is really nothing like her real-life inspiration.
Again, it was written at least three years ago

Disco Ball
Hangs in with the popular crowd, shows up at great parties.
Makes no light of her own, but always reflects that of others so that it seems like hers.
Sometimes the light is pretty, sometimes not so much.
Never is it bright enough to be good for anyone, but so many are fooled by reflections.
Constantly spinning, turning, changing. None can tell what will happen to her next.
Yet they will come if she is there.
They do not care her speed or color. They don’t notice she is hollow.
She hangs from a string, but nobody knows, nobody cares. With light she has everyone fooled.
Yet usually, she is not at parties. Usually she is stored away, packed in a box, forgotten.
People are pleased to hear of her, but those who see her in her box are bored.
They laugh and say “so that is the light of the party? Ha!”
They smile at their reflections on her mirrors.
Those who have seen her without light scoff, for they know she is nothing.
A product of mankind with no spirit, no soul.
Belonging in a box with a handwritten label

A label that reads “disco ball.”