Looking for a blusher brush

I should have been a false eye lash,
flashing heat onto passers bye,
lush with thick mascara,
balanced on top of high heels
and a short skirt, I would stroll
into dim lit night clubs.
 
Wink involuntary at the nose
covered in powder,
my glue would hold me together,
keep me cool and sharp,
waiting for a strangers eye
so I can look my best,
find love in any form I choose.
 
But instead I lie curled
in front of the mirror,
unglued and comical
a table top eye
that never opens.
 
I suppose I could
balance on  slippers
wrapped in a dressing gown
to flutter at the dustbin man
or pretend to be a mustache
and twitch at the post lady.