Alone, she scribbles poems by the hour,
Her glasses perching neatly on her nose.
From mighty pens she siphons all her power;
Yet mighty little power flows from prose.
"Perhaps," she thinks, "they'll love me for my quirks,
"If I should trip and spill my food one day!"
But fate is cruel to her, and nothing works,
For nerds are but the easiest of prey.
Sad Charlotte then seeks solace from a star
Who loves her not, though far away it lies.
For never has its light glimpsed, from afar,
A soul as flat and bare as the night skies.
Hear my lament, now that I've thy attention:
How cold the life of she with one dimension!
Katani wishes only to be rich,
Her fashions worn by all across the land.
They kid not when they call her, well, a witch,
The foolish girl who built her house on sand.
Mere dollars cannot evilness possess,
And camels pass through needles now and then.
Redemption, though, requires more than dress;
The road to hell is paved with stylish brands.
For some dynamic hearts there is yet hope,
But cursed she be with nothing but one goal:
To travel down the curved and narrow slope,
And cast away her cheap, plain, knockoff soul.
If lukewarm lives come from following convention,
How cold the life of she with one dimension!
Maeve Kaplan-Taylor wants to be a star,
A famous and beloved celebrity.
And yet her diva ways are so bizarre,
Her good and loving heart cannot be seen.
"Out of my way," shouts she whilst in a crowd,
Pink sunglasses obscuring her kind eyes.
She may indeed mean well, if well means proud,
But nothing can escape her harsh disguise.
Well-liked, she knows, is equal to admired.
Admired, in turn, is just the same as feared.
By such a twisted creed she is inspired,
And lo, each of her friends has disappeared.
I humbly warn thee now, with no pretention:
How cold the life of she with one dimension!
Bedridden yet again, she's sprained her knee,
But promises her team that she'll heal fast.
Sports make up all her personality,
Though each new injury may be her last.
So Avery learns nothing but to train;
All else to her seems dull or meaningless,
And simply grits her teeth through every pain,
For everything but sports is tedious.
At last, she falls, a ligament has torn,
And that which makes her who she is, is lost.
Her dedication gone, she mopes forlorn.
She knows now that clichés live at a cost.
I beg of thee to learn from this descension:
How cold the life of she with one dimension!
Within her chest there lies a heart of gold,
To match the striking beauty of her face,
And neither much too shy or far too bold,
She finds success in all she does with grace.
But those imperfect mortals whom she knows
To her perfection just cannot compare.
Her sweeping highs knock down their measly lows,
So they begin to grumble, "It's not fair!"
And Isabel, who one time reigned the queen,
Is soon dethroned to suffer her new fate:
Her sheer supremacy now turns them green;
The sight of her fills jealous eyes with hate.
Each detail thou hast heard, but did I mention?
How cold the life of she with one dimension!