Who I Am

It's hard to say who I really am. I see myself through a small lens. The majority of time I spend inside my head, while others tell me to get out of bed; that I should live a little, see the world -- go outside, and explore. Travel to places I haven't seen before. But here I stay, lying awake. So maybe I'm lazy. There has to be more.

There are days when I'm confident, on top of the world. Other days I don't look up from the floor. I criticize every inch of myself, while wishing to be someone else.

This question could be simple if I took it literally. I'd go down the list of my name, age and hobbies. I'm sorry. I know you were hoping for something more profound. I'm not that interesting, so I've let you down.

I have brown eyes and brown hair. They're both common to be fair. My favorite word is deception. Beneath the surface, I'm broken by disease and depression.

Some scars are too deep to mend.

I accept compliments, but never believe them.

I've done things I never thought I would.

I like the smell of bakeries and pinewood.

Sometimes it's hard to make a simple choice.

I can't stand the sound of my own voice.

I probably care more about myself than about you.

I'm good at making promises, but I never follow through.