Poem Week, Part 5: Spoken Flatly

You say my face looks crabby?
Why ever would I be?
Oh, right, I’m short and flabby,
And people step on me.
I’m none too good at running.
I haven’t any arms.
My looks are only stunning
In a way devoid of charms.
It seems my only asset
Is a pair of pointy fangs.
This one defining facet
Doesn’t compensate for pangs
From being weak against assaults
Of every single type.
With all of these outstanding faults,
A Goomba’s gotta gripe.