I am not a girl.

I am not a girl. But when I'm doing my makeup with my friends, I am.

I am not a girl. But when he yells at us from his car window, I am.

I am not a girl. But when he calls us baby and she reaches for my hand for reassurance, I am. 

I am not a girl. But I am a "girl's girl".

I am not a girl. But I am when my mother holds me while I cry.

I am not a girl. And when my father hugs me, I am anything but.

I am not a girl. And when I hold the door for her, it shows.

I am not a girl. And with you, I never will be.

I am not a girl. But I will always be a “girl”.