My oldest has this uncanny ability to make me proud af. Sure, she’s only 17-years-old, but impressive nonetheless.

She had an assignment to write a poem or excerpt that described her. While in class, they were given a short amount of time to write, but this is what she came up with, unedited and completely her…


I was born January 10th.
My parents say, “sorry” every year for making my birthday in the winter.
I don’t know how to whistle.
And I’m a sucker for anyone with a sense of humor, and a heartbeat.
I’m still learning how to relax.
I’m always stressed when I shouldn’t be.
Always overthinking what other people say to me.
I was born 5lbs, 15oz and I’ve been scrawny ever since.
I like popcorn…a lot.
I’ve been told I’m not very good at school.
They call me lazy. I’m just tired.
Secretly, I get really nervous every time I speak.
My voice just doesn’t match.
I have an odd fascination with California and growing up.
I assume I like those things because I want to leave.
I guess that’s why I always have headphones in.
You see, music reminds me that I’m not afraid of change or independence,
But I’m scared to death of everything that’s going to happen the very moment that I fall in love.
I’m clumsy.
Yesterday I tripped over my mental health, landed on my insecurity, and it shattered (like my focus).
I’ve never been in the marching band but I have this snare drum in my chest.
I know this sounds weird but I wonder what my vinyl’s say about me when I’m not around.
I wonder if they see who I really am, or if they’re just like the others.
I enjoy friends, filming, and my phone being charged,
But I don’t breathe as often as I should.
I have solar powered thoughts.
And a battery powered conscience.
My hobbies include:
Editing my dreams,
Hiding behind humor,
And trying to convince my footprints that they’re worth being left behind.
You see, I don’t know much, but I do know this;
I know that our time is fleeting,
And I know that my soul will still be here after everything’s gone to waste.

– kmg, (2019)

<p value="<amp-fit-text layout="fixed-height" min-font-size="6" max-font-size="72" height="80">

“And though she be but little, she is fierce.”

– Shakespeare (1600), A Midsummer Night’s Dream

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: