Can I Be Your Girl

Yvanna Michelle

I mourned beneath the willow tree,
When shrouded came a nymph to me
And slid her hand in mine.
Her boldness I did much upbraid,
And said 'Begone, thou wanton maid;
I seek no love of thine!
'Nor do I hope to wake again
My heart all stricken with disdain,
And drive it forth to woo.
No! no! Forlorn I sit and sigh,
And call on Death to let me die,
Since Phyllis is untrue.'
'Ah!' cried the maid, 'why therefore chide,
Since I indeed am fitting bride
For one so pale and wan?'
She held me in a close embrace,
Nor could I see her hidden face,
And still I cried 'Begone!'
'If thou art Love, thy labour's vain;
I hold thy boldness in disdain,
I care no more to woo.
But be thou Death, for whom I cry,
Thy lover then indeed am I,
Since Phyllis is untrue.'

'Oh! I am Love,' she whispered low,
'And fain I too with Death would go;
My lover—cold is he,
Who bids me fly the trysting-place.'
She raised the veil from off her face—
My Phyllis smiled on me!

- Love in Disguise
Dora Sigerson Shorter

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I've always viewed myself as a special girl. I'm comfortable with my own skin and accept not only my assets, but at the same time my flaws. In retrospect, I knew it was because my family showered me with overpowering love and support that prompted me to be who I was today.

"You are precious because you say so, because you believe it, and most importantly, because you act as if your worthy." This, I read from one of my self-improvement books that I always lived by. That I am my own person and no one tells me what to do and what to feel unless I allow them to. Some may raise eyebrows at me but that's because they understood less. And because I knew better, I just flash them a noncommittal smile.

Vanity is a common trait for humans. The only difference from each one of us is to how much extent we allow this trait to drive our lives for us. Me, I use mine to fuel my goals.

Of course self-consciousness and insecurity creeps from time to time, but that's again another of human nature's various quirks.Which is why when a certain dark-haired, broad-shouldered giant decided to prod on my biggest insecurity, I lost my cool and made a fool out of myself. It wasn't that I lost my control over my temper whenever I was called short or anything along that line by others but when he, the billion-dollar boy of all people decided to irk me with it, I couldn't accept it. You see, Alexandria Grey Powell wasn't always tall in his life; he used to be a stout kid, but it had been a little over a decade since I last saw him.

We were both seven that time and was over their mansion celebrating his seventh birthday. Papa decided to bring the whole family since Grey's parents, Robert Powell and Annabeth Powell insisted saying that since I was going to celebrate my own birthday the next day, why not have an advanced party with their son, right?

Well, the lovely Mrs. Powell made a mistake. I wish I never met that self-centered lunatic.

Grey was one short and pudgy child back then, barely reaching my chin even though we were of same age. When his mom, introduced us to each other, he barely regarded my presence and was more interested in stuffing cake and ice cream to his mouth as he flipped from one leaf to another of his new picture book, smudging its pages with icing in the process. Even his cheeks and dark locks were smeared with the thick soft substance.

It was a costume party and he wore a green and yellow dinosaur onesie as he happily swung his short legs back and forth under the table where he was alone. I noticed he didn't socialize with the other kids and enjoyed the solitude more, so when his mother decided to leave me sitting opposite and facing him, I found this to my liking as I didn't actually appreciate the crowd myself.