I am a female.
All six of my siblings are brothers.
I am a resilient child.
The product of divorce.
I am quite tall.
My hair is obscenely orange.
I am twenty-one years old.
For the last sixteen years, I have been in school.
I am impulsive.
My temper is sharp.
I'm not very social.
Crowds make me anxious.
I hardly ever sleep.
So I play violin in the dead of night.
Often, I forget to eat.
When I do remember, it's a packet of saltines and a handful of Sour Patch Kids.
When I'm bored, I become incredibly destructive.
I like fire.
Heights and small spaces make me nervous.
I climb trees and explore caves anyway.
I'm a romantic.
But also a cynic.
I think most people are extraordinarily stupid.
And the ones that aren't are mostly bad, with only a few genuinely good ones mixed in.
I am very observant.
As a result, I make snap judgments.
I read incessantly.
And when the books are put away, I write.
I watch movies, too.
Way too many of them.
I abhor public speaking.
But there's no place I feel so at home as on a stage.
I place high value on my friendships.
Loyal to a fault.
Sometimes I think I'm going mad.
Sometimes I think I was born in the wrong time.
Place.
Family.
I am a walking contradiction.
I am completely imperfect.
I am a bit not good.
Sometimes, I might be a bit good, too.
I rant.
I read too much into things.
When I get mentally stymied, I make my roommate miserable.
Whenever my thoughts go too fast, I drag her out on adventures.
I put myself in dangerous situations without a thought.
Usually when suffering from ennui.
I like fictional characters more than real ones.
Except in special cases.
I really don't like being touched.
But even I can appreciate the power of a good hug.
There's a distinct possibility I might be a bit OCD.
Which is probably why I can continue listing things forever.
The state of my living space directly correlates the state of my mind.
It's oscillates between neatly cluttered and completely chaotic.
I am cavalier about my extensive vocabulary.
Furthermore, I loathe poor grammar.
I am not religious.
But my belief in a creator God is unshakable.
I create sad excuses for poetry in the dead of night.
And I don't care what anybody thinks about it.
I'm just me. I know who I am.
Can you say the same?
