Who am I?
I stall and stall because I don’t know what to say. It’s not because I lack the words, because I don’t. Or I do. But only because they have refused to leave my hands and flow onto the white sheet in front of me.
But I know I have to write anyway, so I relax and I let the words flow.
“One day you see a strange little girl look at you”
I’m that strange little girl, looking at you. The one with the wide innocent eyes and the thirst for knowledge. The one that smiles like she’s the only one in the world with joy in her heart. The one with the fairy voice, that one.
I am a woman.
Whole. Complete. Imperfect. Aware. Honest. Wanton.
Collage of flaws, perfect in my imperfection.
Not just a writer. Because the music speaks to me. The paintings call to me and draw me in, completely. The dance, the food, the pictures.
“I am arms to hold
Lips to speak.”
I am strong.
But weak enough to need support.
I am the song. I am the muse. I am the lover. I am unashamed.
I am me.