even unfiltered,

i'm still an enigma.

a brain full of musfeul prose.

unknown, even to myself.

a collection of thoughts,

that were manipulated by others.

 

unfiltered, 

i am a wilting flower

struggling

to pull itself upright.

grappling to understand who i am.

 

i want to be beautfiul, heartfelt

adjectives.

i want to bleed words. and

inspire them. 

 

in my sloppy handwriting

and my ungraceful walk

my clumsy words and my 

impulsive tongue.

 

there are things

i wish weren't me.

i'm not as pure and compassionate,

on the outside, as i wish to be.

 

i wish to be brave enough

to be soft and gentle 

yet still strong.

my fear of abandonment 

takes precedence over how much i care...

about everything and everyone. 

 

i'm sarcastic and blunt 

and somtimes cold

to mask how much 

i care. and how

scared and vulnerable

i feel.

 

but underneath,

i'm still that little girl.

who sees and feels the good in everyone.

even the people who don't deserve it.

 

i'm still that little girl who's afraid.

 

afraid of the future.

afraid of the present.

 

unfiltered, 

i'm nervous.

big hearted.

a thoughtful mouth

that can't pull the words together

unless there's a pen in my hand.

 

unfiltered,

i love too much

and too soon.

 

unfiltered,

i'm a writer. 

an optimist.

a lover.

and sarcastic about it all.

 

unfiltered,

i'm me.

 

and there's 

no better way

to describe me 

than 

with one single

word:

 

unflitered.