As a young child, she was told,
"Princesses are pretty, witches are cold."
This thought she buried in her heart.
But she was told from the very start,
She was not beautiful, or pretty,
Could never impress, never be witty.
A big portion of her dream was cropped;
The wishes to become a princess stopped.
There was no fairy godmother with a wand.
And with one flick of insecurity's hand,
She hid like a rat, like a cur,
For another thought dawned to her.
If she was not pretty, not a beauty,
Does this mean she was ugly?
Just like the mean rude witches,
With scary faces and an eye that twitches?
Yes, indeed, for she felt as grotesque
As a dead flower lying on her desk.
And so she turned to her people,
The witches, with boils big like her pimples,
And snarled at everyone she meets,
Laughed when somebody trips.
Even flipped the middle finger
That made her look a lot uglier.
Never tell a girl she's ugly,
Even though she's not obviously pretty.
She has feelings like you, too,
And there are horrible things she could do.
