I am… me

I am the child sitting cross-legged, waiting for story time.

I am the woman who clutches her purse a little tighter when a man walks by.

I am the administrator behind the scenes, helping everything run smoothly.

I am the colleague who wants recognition.

I am the wife who tries to please her husband while maintaining her own happiness.

I am the jilted lover crying in the shadows.

I am the nerd, researching things that no one cares about anymore.

I am the sheltered child who doesn’t know enough.

I am the old soul singing to Fitzgerald, Sinatra, and Crosby.

I am the dancer with the full hips when that Latino beat drops.

I am the unloved creature when I hear the guitar of rock and heavy metal.

I am the star-crossed optimist when I hear the twang of country.

I am the friend who is always there to listen.

I am the mouth that sometimes says things it shouldn’t.

I am the reader who craves the classics.

I am the writer trying to bring back the style.

I am the student who follows the rules.

I am the rebel that does things her own way.

I am the daughter that should try harder.

I am the mother that does too much.

I am the driver who will go anywhere as long as it’s away from here.

I am the homebody who needs security and a place to call my own.

I am the one who remembers the small, insignificant details.

I am the one who will forget your name ten seconds after you’ve said it.

I am the overthinker who can’t let go of the past

I am the romantic dying for a better future.

I am the heart that lays open upon the sleeve of a person who wants to be accepted.

I am the one with my shields up high, shunning hopes and dreams.

I am the teenager shouting out, but no one hears a word.

I am the adult who knows that screaming will get me nowhere.

I am the quiet one who dreads to be approached.

I am the desperate one who needs to know they matter.

I am bleeding.

I am healed.

I am broken.

I am whole.

I am tired.

I am alive.

I am weak.

I am strong when I want to be.

I am… me.