I have been told a lot of things over the years,
I’ve been described in many ways, and I have
described others faultlessly when asked and yet
I’ve always found it hardest to describe myself.
all the words in the world, and no single word
to describe me. I suppose the first step would be
to ask the obvious question with no right answer;
who am I?
well, I’ve always been good at answering questions
with more questions, so, who aren’t I? what aren’t I?
where am I going? when? am I going alone?
when I was little, I thought that when you get older,
you get more answers because you learn more,
and you do learn more, but that just leads to more
questions, and so you start questioning your own
questions until your head spins.
recently, I’ve been thinking about this question, about
who I am because it’s deep, it’s thoughtful, and makes
you question everything you thought you’d believed.
I think who I am is someone who is just me.
if I had to describe myself, I’d say I’m me, just a me
in a sea of somebodys, that I’m unapologetically me
in a world that doesn’t give you time to say sorry anyway.
besides, why would I apologize for being me?
I think I’m the girl who looks up at night skies and sees
more than constellations, I see glow-in-the-dark stickers
on a bedroom ceiling. I think I’m the girl who breathes in
deeply over her mug of hot chocolate in fall and grins at
the sound of crunching leaves. I think I’m the girl who has
not experienced this world, not yet, but is aching to. I think
I’m the girl who knows just a hint of the darkness life holds,
and holds a flashlight beam and a smile to those engulfed
in the inky tendrils. I think I’m someone who sees the world
in pieces and as a whole, all at once, who sees the potential
for beauty where some see ruin, and I’m no one special, and yet
because I’m not, I am. I’m a conundrum, I’m a puzzle I haven’t
and maybe never will, complete. I know I’m just a girl,
and yet, maybe that’s enough for now. the rest is on its way.