Crafty Down to the Bone
What am I without a filter and what am I without my mask?
What am I without the things I use to hide behind?
I'm not that sure on how to answer this question of which you ask,
so I'll just start and search myself to see what I can find.
Well, I'm a normal teenager.
No, wait, thats a lie, I'm weird
but, I can bet you any wager
that I'm no oddity to be feared.
I was hit with bad genes in the skin health department,
so my bathroom might look like a skin care pharmacy.
I'm definitely not part of the skinny assortment.
My mama's gift of wide hips, I guess, ran in the family.
My dishwater blond hair is all natural.
I have no time to attack it with a straightener or dyes.
My baby blues require glasses if I want to see at all.
I've no patience to put contacts in my eyes.
If asked what I want my carreer to be,
common response is to throw my hands in the air.
I'd say, "you'll just have to wait and see,
I only have a creative direction, so there."
Only a few people know the truth,
that I've worked my butt off to get where I am.
Because I'm not a Sherlock Holmes sleuth,
straight "A"s were chosen over a social jam.
But who needs people anyway?
The few friends I've found seem true.
I'd rather hang in a rock climbing gym all day
than drink alcohol at a party hulabaloo.
I dance like nobody's watching
to my k-pop and heavy metal music.
I fangirl over pretty much anything,
anime, manga and music are my basic.
I'm a girl who loves martial arts movies
and cheers when the bad guys get their due.
I prefer subtitles to dubs disease
and a good fight scene to a rom-com crew
I hike, kayak, rock climb and play,
and help my sister with her homework.
But, my room is also my frequent hide-away.
I really love it's black and purple quirk.
The truth is, I'm a unicorn.
I'm fabulous all on my own,
unique since the day I was born,
and crafty down to the bone.
I love to design t-shirts
and upgrade my shoes.
I don't like wearing skirts.
My hobbies are my muse.
I have tons of stories I never typed up or digitized
sitting on a bookshelf looking sad and old.
I read through them sometimes, feeling so surprised
at how my early plots dipped and rolled.
Similarly, most of my poems are stashed away,
in a folder hidden from the world.
I'll write more of them as I age everyday,
their edges becomming creased and curled.
I'm no impressive poet in any way, shape, or form
and there's not enough paper to explain all of me, myself, and I.
But I do hope to soon be surviving college in a dorm,
so I can pave my life in creativity all the way up until I die.