The skull of any animal
Would be her chosen face
Hailed as thrice as beautiful
As hers, now in place.
Teeth like rotting floorboards
And eyes as sunken ditches
MAss hanging out the dress
Bursting at the stitches
Her head hung in hopelessness
And no, it never rises
Because she knows what everyone
Who looks at her surmises
Shame on us! the arbitors
Of this poor woman's shame
For we lie and tell ourselves
She never had a name
Her vessel may be putrid
The body of a beast
But she is loving in the most
And judging in the least
Better than society
And though fate dealt her hard
This little teenage monster
Hold the winning card
