I could say I'm five foot one,

or unable to rant without stumbling over my words.

I could say I'm a vegetarian or a social justice warrior or a feminist.

I could say I am not anything that would ever make it into a beauty magazine.

 

I could say I write because I'm unsure of my own voice.

I mix my morning coffee with three spoonfuls of doubt and always get stomach aches.

I could say I cry when a voice is raised at me or when I think about the future,

or when I think too much at all.

 

But I want to say that I'm fumbling through this obstacle called life,

called unsure-of-anything-but-the future-is-in-reach-and-I-can-taste-the-way-my-coffee-doesn't-taste-like-my-own-dissapointment-anymore.

I'm trying,

and maybe I'm failing too.

But I am like an open window.

I will feel the wind wipping against me and stay open with perseverence.

I will look you in the eyes as if our souls are old friends.

I will say your name like a melody and show you we are all a little scared,

and maybe that's how we know we're alive.

 

When my heart is racing

at least I know it's working properly.

 

I could say I'm unsure of what the future holds for me,

but I want to say

I'm sure of myself.

This body is home.

I have never before been so sure of its structure.