Two-Hundred-Sixty-Seven Words on an Inconsequential Teenager in a Consequential World

I am my scars.

I am the faint gouge beside my mouth and beneath my eye.

I am the old lines of hate driven into my heart, now long faded.

 

I am an oxymoron.

I am an honest liar.

I am a cowardly leader.

 

I am an adventure.

I am hiking up the Eiffel Tower early in the morning.

I am spending three weeks tearing up the German countryside.

 

I am not beautiful.

I am scarred and plain.

I am choosing to be okay with that.

 

I am unexpected.

I am five feet and three inches of pure energy at six in the morning.

I am crying at the thought of a rose in the rain on a Tuesday.

 

I am human.

I am 456 mistakes.

I am losing my mind somedays.

 

I am a photographer.

I am choosing to see the beauty in every object and person.

I am learning to see the art where there is only mundane life.

 

I am history.

I am stories and experiences.

I am influenced by others.

 

I am competitive.

I am a national-level competitor who only knows a couple things.

I am working sixteen hours a day to make myself better.

 

I am a 4.0 student.

I am not a 4.0 person.

I am a homework fanatic.

 

I am an agriculturist. 

I am raising hogs and lambs and steers and riding horses.

I am working to educate the public on the realities of agriculture.

 

I am a Christian.

I am not judgmental.

I am showing God's love.

 

I am breathing.

I am trying daily to not just survive, but to thrive.

I am living like no one else so I can be only like me.

 

I am more.

This poem is about: 
Me

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