I like to think of myself as a walking contradiction.

Often misjudged,
I walk on.
I've come to far to be told otherwise.

A walking contradiction I may be,
Born by sin,
Hated since then,
Told to be nothing more than a burden,
I still walk on.

I may not be an oil painting,
Though it has struck past midnight,
I see my own beauty in a different way.

Scorned to be nothing...