The Most Me

I am the most me I can be when I wake.

My hair is knotted and frayed, and I knew leaving that hair tie in was a mistake.

I scrape the gunk from the inner corners of my eyes and pry my eyelids open.

It's too early for this.

I am not perfect. But I'm happy.

The sun is up, and while I appreciate it,

I simply smile, and say, "No, thank you."

And I pull the covers up over my head.

I resemble myself, the day I met this world:

curled up, comfortable in my surroundings, afraid of the unknown.

I have not yet brushed my teeth, nor have I put on decent clothes.

But, oh, I have never been so comfy.

I decide that while home is my favorite place,

my bed is a close second.

Seconds, seconds pass.

Then, minutes!

And I am still here.

Because I know who I am.

I don't have to impress anyone other than myself.

After the wonderful thing that is sleep wisps away my freshly-washed, airy, bouncy curls,

and the pillow leaves angry red marks across my cheeks and forehead,

and I toss and turn until my pajamas twist around me, wrapping me up like a shiny birthday present,

I show who I truly am; a happy mess.

And I think it's time,

to go back to sleep.