I was never known for my patience,
Or my calming presence.
My eagerness spills out like the secrets I know I should probably keep
But I just never learned how to.
I grew up sharing too much,
Speaking too often,
Filling any gaps of silence with nervous rambling.
I’ve never been one to throw up, but this word vomit is becoming habitual.
Rewind conversations when I’m awake at 4 in the morning.
Why the fuck did I talk so much about sharks?
God, he’s going to think I have some weird shark fetish.
Great, now I can’t fall back asleep because I’m thinking about how much I fucking love sharks!
Being this neurotic, Jewish girl has become my costume.
Something I can toss on,
Dress it up,
Make it presentable, charming.
Maniac pixie dream girl disguise,
and never let you know just how deep the scars run.
I will paint myself into whatever you want me to be.
I’ve memorized the script,
I have figured out the character.
So go ahead and label me the young Zooey Deschanel and never think twice about the truth beneath.
The cripple of anxiety,
The blanket of depression I make jokes about.
I will be the first one to point out my own flaws,
Laugh about whatever dumb thing I said.
Want you to see through me,
But you only see what I’ve chosen for you to see.
I am not as brave as I seem on a stage.
I am not as brave as I seem on paper.
I am not as brave as my mother tells me I am.
There is nothing brave about me.
I am passionate and terrified of how much I crave things.
I love to be in front of an audience,
But need to be alone when I go to sleep.
I will close the doors to my bedroom,
But open the windows
thinking maybe this hermit lifestyle isn’t so bad if I can hear what’s going on outside.
Inside, I am nothing that makes sense.
I have fallen down so many times, I’ve started to wear protective gear.
I champion loving oneself, but trip on the cracks woven throughout my true self-esteem.
I am loud,
but I am addicted to the quiet.
I want another heartbeat close to me,
but I will push away the ones that are actually healthy,
Chase after the broken pieces.
I am an unfinished poem that sounds more like stream of consciousness.
I run from the thought of being an adult,
but I stopped taking care of the little girl inside me.
I am not brave.
I am messed up and beautiful,
and I love hopelessly and fiercely.
I am scared of fucking up,
Of ever hurting another human being.
I am uncomfortable when my phone rings,
But god damn,
I wish he would text me.
Seek shelter in the wrong places,
Have no idea if home is the same spot that raised me.
I do not believe in a higher power,
but hear God every time Ray LaMontagne sings.
I am not patient,
Not the damsel waiting to be rescued,
I am the product of 22 years
finally learning the strength in saying
I am enough
in all that I am
and all that I’m not.
I am enough,
and that is enough for me.