Who am I?
I’m not sure anymore.
It seems like only yesterday
the answer would be a single digit number.
The age of a little girl.
Now who I am can’t even be summed up on paper.
Not in words.
Not in anything but emotions
that only I can feel.
that gets the best of me.
Those days are hard to get through.
Those days are when a dirty look can make me cry,
when my thin shell is cracked to the point
that my eyes can’t seem to stop watering.
That’s when I ask myself hard questions,
like “who am I?”