There is a little girl inside my heart,
With fluffy, curly hair,
Who is always giggling and laughing,
Always smiling, searching for joy.
There is a scowling pessimist, too,
With a glare sharp and cold as ice,
Who protects herself with knife-sharp words,
Always fearing the worst, and overreacting.
And who could forget the sociable one,
With her mouth moving slightly faster than her brain, but confidence to make up for it,
Who is always making friends, trying to be nice,
Always the bubbly extrovert.
But her twin, the insecure introvert, keeps her in check
With her quiet eyes drawing back into herself, like a turtle to its shell,
Who really would rather be reading or writing than be with people,
Always second guessing herself, scared to be who she wants to be.
There's the creative me, too,
The one who can take all of the emotions-- good and bad-- and twist them into words, into a tangible form,
The one who ties all of them together,
The one who demands to be heard, to be felt, all without speaking a single word.
Always dreaming or imagining or writing or believing in something better.
There are so many parts to myself, all with good and bad parts,
So many more than I can list-- dorky me, family me, spiteful me-- all with their own loves and fears,
But I love them all, for giving me strength; confidence; a smile; a dream; hope even when there is none, just because I know that time will help and heal and know that things will get better.
They all make up the person I am today, and help me recognize who and what I am-- a daughter, a sister, a friend, an enemy, a poet, a smiler, beloved, and most of all, a force to be reckoned with.