Such A Girl

A Shakespearean sonnet I wrote for my English class about myself.

There is such a girl who seldom lived,

she'd rather live within a phony book,

and on the thoughts of characters she thrived,

choosing the acumen over the looks.

Her social intercommunications were bare,

as she adverted herself from state,

hidden abaft her newly darken red hair,

she had been cursed with the secretive trait.

Her spare time always went straight to her hand,

often she will write until she is drained,

she penned herself a fictitious wonderland,

until her fatigue became limpid strain.

This girl is eccentric and acute see?

I have mixed feelings about her being me.