i am not the girl you bring home to your mother,
not one who nods or stays polite and mild.
too fierce for lace, too far from meek and mild,
no, i won’t trade my grit to please another.

i am not the “get my nails and hair done” saturday morning,
not sunday dress, nor soft and quiet sigh.
i’m scraped knees, loose hair, and a spirit that flies
through backroads, wild winds, and sudden storm warning.

but i am the girl you take camping with,
who cries at the sight of a pod of hippos,
who laughs so hard the whole wild forest knows,
and lives with fire that’s hard to quit or myth.

i am the girl who dances before the music starts,
the muddy-boots kind, with dirt beneath my nails,
i wear my mosquito bites like freckles on trails,
and carry wilderness burning deep in my heart.

so no, i may not be what they expect to see,
but this all of me, giving you all of me.