She isn't just a girl. Just the shape of a girl. Made from the pages of books woven together. Filled to the brim with wonder and the insatiable need to create. Written on her arms are words of encouragement, so her embrace may share comfort. Written on her smile is pure joy, which she finds in the strangest of places, and cannot help but to pass it on. Written on her heart is not only her faith, but also an endless amount of love that she's more than willing to give to every soul in need. Written on the souls of her feet is her gypsy streak, a list of all the places she wants to see. She's often quiet, though she has a lot to say. She's quite timid, even when she's brave. She's the kind of girl, or girl shaped being, that most people will never understand. Despite all the complexity amongst her compostion, in reality they only see a girl. They find her odd, to say the least, even by the whacky standards by which people are judged in the twenty-first century. On her fingers there is ink, and paint, and homemade rings, little things that scream her name. She often sings beneath her breath, as she draws in the margins of her papers. She takes the stairs two at a time and invites herself into conversations. She refuses to attend any parties, she reads beneath her desk, she corrects grammar, she quotes too many movies, she likes to recount her dreams, and no one dares to challenge her at puzzles. They notice her, but they don't know her, because they think she's just a girl. I am not just a girl. I am... The shape of a girl.