My muscles: nothing puny,
And my countenance, quite grave;
My death-look's nothing paltry
To those who misbehave.
My actions are efficient,
And I can't abide a flirt;
I'm in charge when I can help it,
And your insults just don't hurt.
I'm an independent woman,
And I scoff at Mary-Sues,
And I won't fall in a tizzy
To wear flirty, high-heeled shoes.
I'll pretend I wear an armor
'Gainst your compliment'ry words,
And I'll disregard the flowers,
And the singing of sweet birds.
But oh, somewhere inside me
Hides a heart that's soft-and guarded.
My armor can be pierced,
And my defenses quite bombarded.
For despite my outer toughness
Which I use to hide from you,
I'm the girl whom God has made me:
A romantic, through and through.
postscript
I've begin accused of feminism at my school. Not true-- I just choose not to flirt (much), and I have never dated because I have never felt a desire to yet. Consequently, I'm seen as untouchable. But oh-- I'm as romantic as the best of them... underneath. I feel vulnerable posting this poem, but it also made me laugh, so I thought I would share it.