You look at this picture and you see me.
Me with my dark purple hair that you can only tell is purple
in the right light.
Me with a tattoo behind my right ear that my mother hates.
Me wearing a glow-in-the-dark T-shirt advertising products I’m
technically not old enough for
Me biting my lip because that’s what I do when I’m thinking
too hard
Me with dark circles under my eyes that you can’t see thanks
to photoshop
That’s the me you see
But who am I?
Am I the happy bubbly girl my friends know?
Am I the timid idealistic little girl my parents know me to
be?
Am I the crazy older sister who’s “going to get arrested”
that my brother knows?
Am I the sweet but destructive girl my exes know me to be?
Or am I the thoughtful girl who cries onto her keyboard?
What am I?
I am popcorn mixed with marshmallows because it’s the
perfect balance of sweet and salty
I am sprinkles eaten with a spoon out of a cup because they
leave a pleasant after taste
I am music turned up way too loud so you can feel the bass
thumping
I am the foot that never lets off the gas pedal
I am the strong scent of vanilla
I am words on pages arranged ever so carefully by their
authors in books
I am paint, pencils, sheet music, and pens because I can’t
choose one medium of expression
But what about the
darker parts of me?
The parts that aren’t exactly “acceptable”
Loud
Selfish
Obnoxious
Self-absorbed
Vain
Manipulative
Dangerous
Toxic
I claim to be an open book
But there are parts that I keep locked and hidden away
In the deepest dungeons of my mind
Locked away like the Titans
Waiting to be freed by Cronos
And one day I’m sure it will all come pouring out
Just not yet
Still, I ask.
Who am I?
