How am I supposed to define myself and who I want to be when I don’t even know myself?
Add the adolescent pressure of fitting in,
divided by trying to be who I actually am,
times the expectations my parents have for me,
and that equals a mess of a girl who doesn’t know what her favorite color is.
I don’t know what I am.
I don’t know who I am.
I am a book of paradoxes and words.
I am a creature of the night with an infatuation with the sunrise.
I am my thoughts that I think and put together in my mind that sound like they were lost Soulmates who found each other,
yet when they try and come out onto paper, they sound like broken records.
I am the girl who got the lowest grade on the math test last week.
I accept it with hesitant arms because I am a girl who knows she is smarter than the number in the Gradebook.
I am more than my ACT score or my class rank.
But I’ve never felt more ashamed of myself than when I see the look on a peer’s face when they hear I was number 56.
As if I am not living up to who they think I am.
I am so much more than the pretty girl with the shy attitude.
I have never felt like less of a person than when the guy at work said that if I was over 18 he wouldn’t be as kind to my rejections.
Or when I was in 8th grade walking down the street at the beach and a truck full of college guys catcalled at my friends and I.
I am not a piece of meat.
My body was not created for the sole purpose of enjoyment for the male gender.
My body was created for strength and children and life, not to make me feel ashamed of it.
I am a person.
And what I am does not make me any less of one.
Let’s face it.
I like guys.
I like girls.
I am a girl who can appreciate the beauty of both sexes.
I am attracted to both sexes.
Yet I am asexual for the most part.
I am not strange for being asexual, for being who I am.
I am someone who does not crave any sexual intercourse with the people I know,
but I do crave it as most humans do.
And I know when I find the person I want to do that stuff with, will be special.
I am not the girl who doesn’t know what she wants anymore.
I know I wanted him and I still do, but he’s not good for me anymore.
I am the girl whose heart he broke and I am the girl who now knows that she doesn’t need anyone else to make her happy.
I am an adventurous girl.
I am in love with the outdoors and I am in love with the theory of leaving my town and never coming back.
I am the girl who loves the color purple (and red, green, blue, yellow, orange, …).
I have an inner fascination with challenging myself so near to a point of breaking.
I am terrified and confused of the next chapter in my life.
I am scared to make the wrong decision.
Yet at the same time I am excited and anxious to push myself to a point of nomadic adventures.
To something new.
I am a person and a girl and a daughter and a sister who is just as confused of who I am as you are after reading this.
I may be lost on who I am but I know this.
I have friends and a family who loves me.
I am in love with the greatest God one could ever ask for.
I am in love with my room and rainy days and fluffy blankets.
I am in love with who I am growing up to be.
I am in love with crying.
I am in love with laughing.
I am in love with being happy.
Heck, I am happy.
And I am in love with me.
All the broken pieces.
All the parts society says is ugly and wrong.
I am not ashamed of who I am.
And God better help the poor soul who makes me or anyone else feel like less of a person than who they are, just for being who they are.