Hiraeth

I Am

          I'm just another girl who'd rather talk of stories than the lives of other people. I'd rather read a book and listen to music than go dancing at night. I'm the kind of girl who cries over people that don't exist. Who'd much rather stay up to 2 a.m. catching up with a friend than go to sleep like I should. I'm the one who talks to people over the internet. Because you don't need to meet someone in real life to know they're real. I'm the girl who laughs too much and dries others' tears. Sometimes I laugh until I cry and the tears of happiness mix with the ones of sadness until you can't tell the difference when I look up. 

         My optimism is borderline craziness and my cynicism is almost frustrating. I stumble into walls and trip over nothing. I scream over things that don't matter, and hold staring contests with friends across the room. I still won't eat broccoli because I don't like the taste. Sometimes I wear dresses because I can twirl in them. And sometimes I like jeans because I don't want to try. Sometimes I just don't try and my hair gets put up into a ponytail, not a messy bun. Because messy buns are not messy enough and too deliberate.

I have dimples if I smile widely enough. And scars on my cheeks. I have bruises on my legs and cuts on my fingertips. I poke myself in the eye by accident. And close doors on my fingers.

I'm not graceful, say the scrapes on my knees.

I'm not the prettiest, say the frizzes and offbeat curls in my hair.

I'm not the most eloquent, says the blush on my cheeks and the shaking in my voice as I stumble and trip over words I've repeated in my head more times than I care to admit.

I'm the universe in a constellation, if you look twice.

But most people only look once. Blink. Pass over.