I have become one who writes for her audience
That doesn't know that I'm writing to them
Making declarations on here
Because in real life, I cannot scream these things out

I hate being constricted, being expected to be stable
All the time
I have days where I feel great and days where I am terrible
And those days in between
Just like everyone else
Days where I go through all the steps of grief at once
And days where I simply skip to the final step

But why do I feel the need to explain myself to you people?
When most of you don't even know me

Some of my poems don't give away who I really am
They are sort of somber and unhappy
However, I am actually happy
Joyous even
Despite various things that have happened throughout my life
I always make the best of it

I feel like I forget that sometimes though
My persevering nature
My optimistic outlook on life
And I forget that I need to remember that I am special, too
We all need to remember that we are worth something
So we don't slip in to the fallacy that we are nothing

I'll be the first one to admit
I have weird things about me
Like how I like bottles in the car cup holder
Always straight, never leaning. Or else I have to fix them
How I systematically eat my diner breakfasts
Scrambled eggs first, one piece of toast, then intermingled bites of home fries and the remaining slice of toast
Or how I like to climb the stairs in the school hallway
All of the stairs to the middle platform before the door makes the closed noise behind me

I feel like there are people everywhere like me
People with quirks
People who are easily excitable
People who love being with their friends
People you could find something in common with
People who can be a lot like you
But people you probably never took the time to understand