She’s penned her lines in ink and tears,

Lived through heartaches, faced her fears,

Tenfold the experiences she’s gained,

As she journeys through this life, untamed.

Her silhouette is lost in the crazy haze,

She walks alone through the labyrinth maze.

Plain and pale, with eyes of blue,

A smile strained, awkward too,

Does it seem an awful small affair,

to the stick-figured girl with mousy hair,

This melancholy page re-read, it’s a bore,

Repeated rhymes of solitude sore.

Family’s weight upon her chest,

Aching heart, a silent quest.

Her mum’s voice, a harsh demand,

Her daddy’s words, like shifting sand,

School bells ring, a mundane score,

A backdrop for a wanting for life that’s more,

She could defy the world’s cruel jest,

Strike down those who would test.

Her thoughts, a specter lost in the air,

Leaving her alone to face despair,

In ink-spilled dreams, she takes her stride,

The girl with mousy hair is forced to hide.

Her pen writes the same lines each day,

Repeating pains in shades of gray,

School’s corridors and echoing halls,

A life constrained within its walls.

But in her eyes, her awkward frame, a fire burns,

A spirit fierce, a paper heart that yearns,

To laugh in the face of fools,

Break free from culture’s binding rules.

an awful small affair, this scripted play,

A bore it is, forced to obey.

“Focus on this,” they all insist,

Culture, family, school’s long list,

Yet her soul resists as if to say,

There’s more to life, another way.

So let us listen to her voice,

A yearning soul, a quiet noise,

She’s penned her story ten times over,

She’ll transcend scripts, a future to explore.

Yet again, she’ll write her rhyme,

Craft her tale, on the printing press of time,

In her own story, she finds her place,

Mousy hair framing a determined face,

So let the world its judgments cast,

This girl has dreams and they are vast.