Waiting for a Warm and Helping Hand

She is pale and she is plain.
Generally she is invisible,
Internalizing every worry
Replaying every memory
Alone, she wrings her icy hands
And wishes she was better.
She wishes she had friends....
Though she knows all warmth is temporary.
Her cool facade grows frigid.
First, she forgets how to smile...
She sees how people frown as she arrives.
They always flee and hide from her,
They curse her when she is near.
Nobody understands her
Or the temper she tries to hide.
Bitterness has made her shrill
but she tries to whistle a soothing tune
As she wrings her icy hands
And wonders, whether they would be so cold...
Had she another pair to help warm them?