Am I the girl with treasures in her head yet can't unlock the chest?

Am I the girl who is made up of a compilation of ****** scrap papers that outline every **** scar?

Am I the girl locked up in her room trying to figure out why the world is so cold, why she's all alone and nobody seems to care?

Am I the misfit girl, the one that doesn't stand out, the imperfect one, the one who has to try extra hard?

Am I the girl who is scared to delve into her sub conscious cause she might actually like what she finds?

The girl who enjoys the simple things in life, or the narcissistic ***** that woman assumes I am?

The girl who is a loosely placed coma in somebody's syntax, or the girl with a drunk mind yet sober?

Am I the girl who has the brush on her hand looking at an empty canvas, or the girl who embraces the shadows on the surface?

Am I the girl whose arms and legs are under, but still manages to keep her head above the waves?

Am I the bass guitar in somebody's symphony of life?
Am I somebody's ray of sun?
Am I somebody's trusted friend?
Am I who somebody's looking for?
Am I stoic?
Am I a wilting flower?
Am I a blooming purple orchid?
Am I even the star of my own life?

I am a pending train wreck
I am a beautiful girl
I have a good-crazed out head above my shoulders
I am completely illogical at times
I am a walking bundle of emotions
I am a heart full of games nobody wants to play
I am not perfect

I am me,
Farah.