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I am the girl
I am the girl behind the red door—
the one with freckled skin the color of snow,
barely blue eyeballs and hair the shade
of a sunset.
I am the girl who hates tomatoes and politics.
The girl surrounded by Packers and
Brewers fans yet loves Chicago sports.
I am the girl with feet echoing through the empty house
blasting Khalid when I’m home alone.
The girl in love with impulse plans that raise my dad’s
blood pressure.
I am the girl with a pretty house but a broken home.
The one with utter self-reliance due to absence of a mother.
The girl with two older brothers in college who
try to accept she’s not a baby anymore.
I am the girl that shamelessly eats french fries and
a strawberry shake roughly once a week.
The one in love with starry summer nights
amping “Tongue Tied” by Grouplove with the best of friends
as we cruise to the nearest house party.
I am the girl with a piece of her heart that rests in
a fifty year-old home with a creaky wooden porch swing
in Geneva, Illinois where countless allnighters have taken place.
The home where my best friend of two years now lives.
I am the girl obsessed with stunning, shimmering city night lights.
The one that is immune to safe suburban streets but longs
for a lavish life rich with spontaneity.
I am the girl with a soft spot for flowers, flying, and fishing.
The one focused on high school gymnastics
yet refuses to pass up a day on the lake, or sleeping
in on a crisp autumn morning.
I am the girl behind the red door.
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