Life of a wallflower, she is soft and shy,

With not much to say.

But who will she tell them to anyway?

She has friends but doesn't as well.

She's lost and confused, the farthest

book on the shelf,

That no one picks, that is dusty and old.

Words swim in her head, of stories

untold.

She wants to fit in, she wants to be free,

She wants to be like them, she whispers

out a quiet plea.

But who will listen, to her soft words

that are barely heard,

Who will pay attention to this broken

and caged bird?

Her heart is bruised, her wings are

torn,

They frown upon her and eye her with

scorn.

She reaches for that hand who will

guide her through the dark,

But all she grasps is wispy thin air, cold

and stark.

The hand that used to hold hers, has

long since left,

Leaving her deprived of warmth,

Utterly bereft.