I'm not thin.
I'm not tall.
I'm not pretty.
I can't sing you an operetta.
Nor can I recite Cicero in perfect Latin.
The last potplant I had died.
And I can't rollerblade.
I'm not particularly talented at anything.

I'm just me.

I have freckles.
I have long brown hair.
I have tiny hands and feet and big hips.
I talk too much and too easily.
I'm constantly trying new things and dropping them after a few months.
My idea of Heaven is a bar of chocolate and my boyfriend at my side.
I like to dance and sing when I'm alone.
I'm just like you on the inside.