She only wanted to be beautiful like them.

But she was always too plain, too gawky, too thin.

A moth overlooked midst a sea of monarch beauty.

No one cared about boring old Trudy.
 
But Trudy was always watching them.

Their shiny, swishing hair; their sun-kissed, rosy skin.

She wanted their beauty, and have it she would

And if she couldn't have it then nobody could
 
A snippet of Penelope's shiny hair

The broken red fingernail that fell off of Claire

Fragments of beauty no one would miss

Knotted around Trudy's winged wish
 
The petulant, pouty lips of Patrice

Carved from her lovely face as she sleeps.

Now sewn upon Trudy's twisted sneer

Waxy smile split ear to ear.
 
Elegant fingers once attached to Denise

Will never again tickle ivory keys

Lifeless, they hang from Trudy's hands

Like Rotting, fleshy eternity bands.
 
Empty eyes, shriveled and dull,

Stare lifelessly from Trudy's skull.

Liquid tempest orbs, once sapphire blue

Plucked from the sockets of Anna Lou.
 
The perfectly freckled and pert nose of Grace

Stitched with red ribbon across Trudy's face

Never to turn up in disdain again

The penance to pay for prideful sin.
 
Mounds of milky, silky flesh

Carved from Anastasia's chest

Wither on Trudy's shapeless form

Symbols of desire, self-loathing, and scorn.
 
The sharp, biting tongue of nasty Annette

On a delicate cord hangs from poor Trudy's neck.

Flanked by the toes of graceful Guinevere

Snapped from her feet with gardening shears
 
She only wanted to be beautiful like them.

But she was always too plain, too gawky, too thin.

A moth overlooked midst a sea of monarch beauty.

Now they're all part of poor twisted Trudy.