In the land of giants, I've always stood,
Tall and graceful, often misunderstood.
"Pretty," they'd call me, as I'd walk by,
Yet, in my heart, a different cry.
A wish to be petite, cute, and small,
To be the one they'd adorable call.
A longing for a different praise,
In the mirror's ever constant gaze.
In the world's eyes, I'm a towering tree,
But inside, a small flower yearns to be.
To be seen not for my height, but for my grace,
Not just the pretty, but the cute face.
Yet, I've learned to embrace my towering might,
For every stature, in its own right, is bright.
And though 'cute' may seem a compliment grand,
I am more, with my height, I understand.
For I am the mountain, strong and tall,
And in my own way, I enthral.
Yes, 'cute' is sweet, like a morning's dew,
But 'pretty' is beautiful, and I am too.
