Shy

Who do you see? Am I the 100.6 GPA with the clumsy red blast of a blush when embarrassed? Am I the one who needs to stop wearing heels because I'm tall enough already? Am I the bookworm, better at writing than speaking? Should I shut up my mouth and just stick to reading? What do you think? But what do I care? I know I'm the girl with the wet dog hair After swimming in the ocean, dodging jellyfishes, The one who spends my nights dreaming many wishes, The one whose computer skills are barely basic But who corrects the spellcheck on a regular basis. I am the former nonathletic, now athletically non-pathetic. Father's face and mother's eyes And some surprise ingredient I cannot recognize. Am I a sonnet or an element or formula? No! I am not defined by the things I memorize --x-equals-negative-b-plus-or-minus-the-square-root-of-b-squared-minus-four-a-c-all-over-2-a is an obnoxious waste of my artistic brain I do math for a grade; I am not an equation I am the voice that does not speak unless it has some revelation, Or some question. I am the one who thinks too much And does too little. I say that I was shy, but people who know me know that I still am.