I am soft. Soft like a peach. Peachy like a peach. Curvy, pinkish, yummy like a peach. Soft like little kisses. I love little kisses.
Strong. I am strong like a girl. Fight me, I bite, not just peaches. I am strong of tongue and heart and arms and legs. Strong like carved muscle. I love my muscle.
I write a poem every time I turn another year older; here is nineteen years old.