SocksAsGloves

She walks down the street, Headphones in her ears. Angry music playing loudly, To keep away her tears. Her hair is short and messy, Her black polish is chipped. Her combat boots thump loudly, Her goodwill jeans are ripped. She likes her rough fashion, Ahough she hates her face. It masks her emotions, Her hearts delicate as lace. Yet she grins at passersby, Who stare with pure disgust. She leaves them speechless, Coverde in her dust.