That forgettable face,
blending in with the crowd,
the one that rarely speaks
never boisterous, never loud
That girl whose name you can't quite place
the one whose hand is never raised
she hardly bothers to respond to much
not compliment, mockery or even praise
The one you barely notice,
She seems to live within her own mind
camouflages with the background
not mean, yet not really kind
You know nothing of her
but of course, you don't care, you see
The eternal wallflower
that girl, Jane Doe, that girl is me.
