I sometimes wonder wryly
if that’s someone else entirely
And you’re really sad and lonely,
devoid of friends and homely.
I picture a simple pudding face
gazing pensively into space
on a lonely, loveless night,
striving to get the verse right.

And it gives your life some meaning,
more so than compulsive cleaning
And taking time to compose and think
keeps you from an over-reliance on drink.
Although pouring out your soul
can take its toll,
many find it fulfilling.
Giving respite from say….a life of loitering in doorways, waylaying passing sailors and doing it in a dark alley for a shilling.
Not that I’m suggesting that’s you.
(Though there’s nothing wrong with that if you do)
I’m just saying people have lived through much worse
and still found the time to write verse.

Because somehow it’s difficult to reconcile
your writing with that self-possessed profile.

But if it’s not the case
that you chose a much prettier face.

And it’s absolutely true
that the picture of the slim and attractive young woman caught in a moment of quiet reflection looking wistfully into the middle distance and giving the impression that she has a rich and rewarding life and lovers, you posted
is really you.

And
you’re not
homely or lonely
or dumpy or lumpy.
(and certainly not Bashful or Dopey or Grumpy).
Writing poignant poetry
to hide your pain
because you think you’re plain 
and your life is like an abandoned cardboard box going soggy in the rain.

Then I’ll be happy that you’re really you
And not that picture of sorrow I drew -
pretending she’s somebody new.
For you look like a girl I once knew.
Though you still could be miserable it’s true -
you don’t have to be plump to be blue.
And there’s certainly more than a few
who are plain, fat and jovial too
and it’s tricky to tell who is who.

By these words you will probably construe
that I haven’t really thought this thing through.