Toxin's her forte, that's all they say;
But a rare lily she is, in the coldest play-
She's forged in flames,
She spoke with fierce intense;
Born to break the sadist rules,
Blower, indeed, on pep rallies at school;
Hates the ones with coin faces;
But merged the folk with rock and break.

Weird, stuck-up, aloof; they say,
But fun is what she has always craved-
She just can't be on the cheer-leading,
Rather be on fields like a kicking chic.
Obsessed with her own eclectic self,
A smart witty woman beyond her teenage:
"I'm so indie!"; never she said,
People so dope, they flawed her grade.

Freak, baggy, evil; they say,
But missed the causes that made her gray-
Hence she loves to hate; never precede
A society so sick, with crude stampede!
Her blue long long curls,
Adorned with a fancy little perm;
She puts on the beads of sheer liberty;
Not a moppet, she's a moody moll of synergy:
Whilst standing alone in the vast bluebells' field,
She cracks a smile on her mulberry lips.

©Shena