Who am I you may ask? That’s a good question. I could be a teacher, a painter, dancer, or a mother.
I could be lots of things. But to answer your question
I am the girl who never raises her hand when she knows the answer in class, the quiet person in the back of the room. I am the one who walks around with her head down, the one nobody knows. I am the person who laughs so hard with her friends that she cries. I’m the one who screams at the top of her lungs at a hunter Hayes concert, then stays up till one in the morning with her best friend talking about it. I am the girl who cries alone every night in the dark. The one who slams doors, and screams. I am the one who punches doors and walls. I am brave. I am strong. I am hard working. I am a daughter. I am a friend. I am a person. I am shy. I am bruised but not broken. I am me. I am irreplaceable. I am one of a kind. I am a writer, an artist, I am Sa-Vitra Rose. Plain, old me. Can’t you see? That’s right I am little old me.