I’m just a girl who likes to sip coffee from a large mug, dance in her wool socks, and pretend the sky is a chalk board to write prose on.
I’m just a girl who changes her life goals as often as she changes her clothes—twice a day.
I’m just a girl who sings Portuguese in the shower and writes love letters on the back of receipts she’ll never send.
I’m just a girl who feels from her head to her toes and wants a place to call “home.”
I’m just a girl.
I’m the girl who orders a latte at 9 a.m. and an americano right before closing.
I’m the girl who falls in love but never out.
I’m the girl who walks forward when you smile and backward when you don’t.
I’m the girl who cries while cooking, whether she’s cutting onions or not.
I’m the girl who turns her left foot to 4 p.m. when she’s nervous and 4:45 when she’s in love.
I’m the girl who closes her eyes and looks down toward 6 p.m. just to imagine someone’s smile once more.
I’m the girl who doesn’t know if she wants to be a professor, medical doctor, or a librarian.
I’m the girl who decides to clean her bathroom floors at 2 a.m.
I’m that girl.
I was told one time I am just a girl.
I was told girls are meant to be seen and not heard.
Every part of this body was seen—game for ridicule—because I was “just a girl.”
Some may say I’m just a girl, as if being a girl isn’t enough.
Some may say I won’t amount to anything.
It is okay if this is how you feel.
You see, you’re somewhat right.
I am a girl.
I am a girl who aspires to make this world a better place.
I am a girl who wears her heart on both her sleeves.
I am a girl who will do anything for the ones she loves.
I am a girl, and like most girls, I am happy with being “a girl,” whether it’s “just” this or more.