I am…

I am the middle child, confined to being a comparison of others, not an entity in myself.

I am the “rebellious one,” the one who can’t keep her mouth shut or her head down.

I am brazen and ferocious, called intimidating by some and passionate by others.

I am feminism and the belief that everyone was created equally.

I am something, I am nothing.

But I am also a love for broken things, for broken people.

I am the one who will be there after everything has fallen apart.

I am mix CDs and sweaters and hot tea on gray and rainy days.

I am Netflix and naps with friends, buried in masses of pillows and fuzzy blankets.

I am poetry about the things that fascinate me.

I am music in the middle of the night when I can’t sleep and no one is awake.

I am a gunshot that sends me running, adrenaline rushing, with kicking legs and beating heart, over hurdle after hurdle.

I am strength in numbers, a group of friends with so much love that anything is possible.

I am the ocean pulling itself onto the sand and grasping at ankles, I am snow settling on a quiet world, I am mountain peaks pushing into the sky, and stars splashed across an infinite background.

I am dreams of travel, of big cities and natural wonders, of a job that I love and a person that I love more.

I am ready to get out.