The most authentic version of myself?
For my parents, I am Hannah Elizabeth.
Beautiful, strong, resilient—
On the outside.
For my teachers, I am #133193
29 ACT, 1950 SAT, 4.3 GPA—
On the papers.
For the public, I am Rebellion.
I cannot wait to leave, I cannot wait to be alone—
On the media.
For my friends, I am Supportive.
My worries and fears are irrelevant—
On my façade.
For myself, I am FREE.
I am scratching my head over a 1500 piece puzzle,
Composed of the best of Van Gogh and Monet.
I am screaming inside as I’ve stubbed my pinky toe,
Cursing the elegant, innocent coffee table.
I am crying because my dearest Rhett left my darling Scarlett,
Even though she deserves every aching beat of her heart.
I am pulling up a chair and a warm comforter fresh out of the dryer,
Counting each flash of lightning outside my window.
I am laughing at the world’s worst feminist play, The Taming of the Shrew,
Simultaneously praising and cursing the mighty Shakespeare’s genius.
I am pulling out my hair, screaming as loud as my lungs allow,
Because somebody ate the last of my orange sherbet that I was looking forward to.
I am finding relief in punching, kicking the solid air,
Relieving my emotional imbalance with each exhale of breath.
I am none other than who I am.
Stubborn, conceited, anxious, a perfectionist—
Yet here I still stand, still beautiful in my own eyes,
Because throughout my many faces of life, I am still me.