Who am I?
I’m Juliana.
I am what I obsess over.
I am who and what I love.
I am that book that I cannot stop reading.
I am those John Green quotes.
I am Hamilton, and Rent, and Dear Evan Hansen.
I am who I am with my friends,
and who they make me want to be.
I am those kids that I see whenever I close my eyes,
and they are my dream that needs to come true.
I’m a lover.
I’m a dreamer.
I’m an artist.
I’m a hypocrite.

I try to be a good person.
I try to imagine others with complexity.
I try to be enthusiastic about the miracle of human consciousness.
I try to belive that I will see those kids one day.
That they’ll get to call me Mom.
That I’ll get to read them my favorite books before bedtime
and see them grow up; and have kids and dreams of their own.

I try not to be someone who lets ADHD and Anxiety control my life.
But it does.
When I tell my Anxiety to shut the hell up,
it lets my ADHD go wild.
And when I calm myself down,
it just gives my Anxiety back the reins.

I say I image others with complexity,
but that just means putting them in more than one box and narrowing them further.
I read the same book over and over and over again
because I know I can’t create anything better.
So I don’t even try.
I wish I was someone who tried.

I know that if Colton magically came alive,
he’d shoot me.
We could never be the friends we are in my head.
He’d never show me the sides of himself I know he has,
because I’m me.
I’m not special.

What is love?
Why does it exist?
Is it just a thing that blinds us from our realities,
or is it reality itself?
Why am I on this earth,
moving around this galaxy,
floating in this universe?
Is it the only one out there?

Is there a version of me without her head in the clouds?
One who is happy.
One who doesn’t talk every second of the day,
but also doesn’t care if she does?
Is there a version of me who will get those angels?
Who will be the Mom I want to be,
who I know they deserve?
Or is this me.
The person in front of you,
the only me I will ever get.
The is both the best and worst version of myself,
doing everything wrong but yet trying her best to do it right.

I want to be happy.
I want to be proud of the people and the things that I love.
Whether they’re fictional or not.
I want to be me.
I want to say: this is me.
I want to be confident in who I am.
I want to not be a hypocrite.
So how am I doing so far?