I am... Emily Crocker

I am…

I am the blonde who wishes to be brunette, the eldest of three daughters, raised in a dead end college town, desperate to break free.

I am the teenage adult with Peter Pan Syndrome, the hater of my name, and eternally indecisive about the choices of life and what it has to offer.

I am the home to the heart of Kyle, the one who mere words cannot do justice.

I am the architect of unstable forts that shelter from the harshness of reality, my imagination blocking out the crippling anxiety from poking its head through the cracks in my foundation.

I am the host to endless galaxies in my eyes, a labyrinthine forest in my head, and a golden meadow in my heart to contrast my black state of mind.

I am the caregiver and admirer of animals of all sorts, relating more to those with whom no communication can be made but gestures and a variety of noises.

I am the songs hummed softly while carrying out daily mundane tasks, the low pulsing bassline of the music playing through tangled earbuds, the song that’s been on constant repeat for days upon days.

I am the blank pages of a freshly bought journal, ready and awaiting creative thoughts to be scribbled haphazardly, the black ink pen that cannot keep up with a hurtling train of thought.  

I am the warm mug grasped tightly between cold, pale fingers painted with black polish, an oversized sweater and black jeans, the worn black leather jacket that seems to complete every outfit.

I am the faked accents and pompous attitude when feeling silly, the witty retorts and clever sarcasm that comes so easily to mind.

I am the chaos of a bustling, sleepless city, the gray, overcast sky and angry black clouds filled with rain, ready to unleash their fury upon the ground below, the thunderstorms that shake bones and echo in your chest.

I am the memories of a long forgotten friend fading into nothingness, the once relied upon confidant who was lowered in ranks until inevitable loss came around.

I am late night movie marathons with Chinese takeout, nestled away among thick, fluffy blankets, joined by Jasper the Okapi and Franklin the Poro.

I am worn and used books with dog-eared pages, favorite passages and quotes underlined and highlighted, yellowing and aging with years and usage.

I am the desire to have a talent in something, but always turns up a failure, the hopes and resolutions of a New Year, but the disappointment and incomplete check-lists at the end.

I am 18 going on 19, a blank canvas awaiting the scars and decorations of the coming years to remind me of how far I’ve come and of my strength to make it even farther.