by Medusa
© 2002 B. Howard, all rights reserved
I'm known as the little one
With all the long hair.
No exceptional beauty
But a confident air.
I enjoy my company,
So much I talk to myself
Though because I'm a hermit
There's rarely anyone else.
Most thoughts are bent elsewhere
Than the task now at hand,
But I think with sole purpose
When my attention does land.
My opinions are passioned
But take time to form
And if you want to push me
Be prepared to lock horns.
Kindness is a virtue,
Though I prefer honesty.
Direct to a fault,
I say what I see.
I'm strict with my child,
And stern with my friends.
But still I seem the one
On who they depend.
I bear the brunt of my laughter,
Forgetful, skinny, and broke.
Not for poor self-esteem,
But because I can take the joke.
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