Oh, woe betide the girl who was never named,
By friends or boyfriends, she remained unnamed,
Unwanted and unloved, she sadly claimed,
A fate so cruel, her heart forever pained.
Her body, deemed too large, too unappealing,
Her face, deemed ugly, devoid of feeling,
Inside, she felt so broken and revealing,
Her voice, so harsh, it sent the birds a-reeling.
She looked a bodyguard, always on high alert,
Relaxing was a luxury she could not exert,
Anxiety plagued her, it made her heart hurt,
Her messiness and dirtiness only added to the dirt.
Her ethics, lacking, were a source of shame,
Her friends were backstabbers, they played a cruel game,
Abandoned by them, she was left to blame,
For a life so hard, it was all so lame.
In Oliver Twist's world, she would surely fit,
A child of poverty, so hard to admit,
But in her case, the ugliness wouldn't quit,
A fate so cruel, she would never outwit.
And in Shakespeare's plays, she'd be the tragic one,
Her life a story of heartache and undone,
A woman so unloved, it would make him stun,
Her fate so harsh, he'd weep until the day was done.
But yet, she lives and breathes and carries on,
A girl so strong, her spirit not yet gone,
For in her heart, she knows she can't be wrong,
Her worth is not defined by others' song.