I am seventeen years 

I am a collection of knowledge, facts, and fears

I am 6,125 days

I am made of the same particles as the very sun's rays

I am not my final version of myself

I am a work in progress in need of help 

I am not my past and I am not my future

I am an opened wound that needs to be sutured 

I am many times misunderstood

I am this close to being done for good

I am myself and for that I am grateful

I am no longer bitter, angry, or hateful

I am happy with the person that I've become

I am finally someone I have come to love 

I am me