What is the essential part of me?
What am I synonymous with?
What am I the epitome of?
I am a quiet baby who rarely cries.
I am colours in motion on the wheel of fortune®.
I am tiny red berries in my neighbour’s front yard.
I am the natural conclusion of a satisfying task.
I am the crackling sparks of one unexpectedly unplugged.
I am a precocious child brimming with nervous energy.
I am crisp white paper, folded and stapled.
I am persistent ideas with a false urgency.
I am a tangle of stories which must be told.
I am an air of haughtiness lined with good intentions.
I am smart and should have known better.
I am the anxiety of not knowing the answer.
I am a boy-ish girl in sweatpants, shirts, and shorts.
I am struggling to make friends.
Then, I am struggling to keep friends.
I am “four eyes.”
I am “ugly.”
I am “gross.”
I am gullible.
I am wary.
I am easy to provoke.
I am easy to ignore.
I am a perfectionist because I have to be.
I am loud until the only option is to be quiet.
I am a spindly pre-teen with my sleeve between my teeth.
I am digital dissociation.
Or I am childhood depression.
I am a hostage of my emotions.
I am a locked volume dial.
I am an explosion of tears.
I am the volcano boiling under my skin.
I am the lava running down my arm.
I am a clumsy teenager who is desperate for connection.
I am shared awkwardness.
I am unbridled enthusiasm.
I am purple silk.
I am exploited naivete.
I am resigned compliance.
I am torn fabric.
I am confused and young and cornered.
Then, I am older and tired and know better.
I am an annoying friend who is terrified of being left behind.
I am unsure of my place in the world.
I am starting to realize that I need help.
I am the first step of a long journey.
I am a girl-ish boy in plaid button-downs and jeans.
I am a student of machine shorthand stenography.
I am a college diploma holder.
I am consistently inconsistent and still struggling.
I am not what people expect me to be.
But I am not sure what people expect me to be.
I am an indifferent lover who is easily replaced.
Or I am hardly a lover at all.
I am a burnout.
I am burned out.
I am the clouds that keep me company.
I am the connections made through disconnection.
I am the grounding force for the tornado above.
Or I am on tiptoes.
I am glowing embers of fires once burning.
I am ferocious flames that swallow what remains.
I am a connoisseur of boundaries.
I am a lifelong lover of language and lingo.
I am critical thought.
I am incessant grace.
I am justice and fury and takedowns.
I am passion and reaction and meltdowns.
I am honest.
I am loyal.
I am trying.
I am a secret idealist with imagination trapped somewhere inside.
I am a perpetual seeker of knowledge in pyjama pants at lecture.
I am an organized mess of a human, born 32 years ago.