when no one’s asking anything of me,
when i disrobe from my appointed roles,
this is who i think i am:

i feel things way too deeply and most of the time i can’t explain why.
so i turn it into poems. metaphors. art.
i notice everything. the way the sky looks before it rains. the way someone’s voice changes when they’re holding back tears.
i want so badly to be understood,
but the walls that surround me are ten stories high.
i’m soft and angry. sarcastic and sincere.
i want to be held and i want to be left alone.
i’m sad, i’m hurting, i’m raw, and vulnerable. i’m grieving my dad.
i’m working on showing up for myself, even if it looks like barely getting out of bed.
i’m lost and looking for a light to guide my path.
i’m finding my way.
i’m learning that i don’t have to disappear to make other people feel okay.
i hold onto dark humor, quick-witted quips, and unhinged honesty.
i find beauty in what’s cracked and half-finished and real.
i’m slowly learning how to listen to the little version of me and let her draw outside the lines without fixing it.

when no one’s watching, i’m not performing.

i’m becoming.