The most authentic version of myself?

Well.

For my parents, I am Hannah Elizabeth.

Beautiful, strong, resilient—

On the outside.

For my teachers, I am #133193

29 ACT, 1950 SAT, 4.3 GPA—

On the papers.

For the public, I am Rebellion.

I cannot wait to leave, I cannot wait to be alone—

On the media.

For my friends, I am Supportive.

My worries and fears are irrelevant—

On my façade.

For myself, I am FREE.

I am scratching my head over a 1500 piece puzzle,

Composed of the best of Van Gogh and Monet.

I am screaming inside as I’ve stubbed my pinky toe,

Cursing the elegant, innocent coffee table.

I am crying because my dearest Rhett left my darling Scarlett,

Even though she deserves every aching beat of her heart.

I am pulling up a chair and a warm comforter fresh out of the dryer,

Counting each flash of lightning outside my window.

I am laughing at the world’s worst feminist play, The Taming of the Shrew,

Simultaneously praising and cursing the mighty Shakespeare’s genius.

I am pulling out my hair, screaming as loud as my lungs allow,

Because somebody ate the last of my orange sherbet that I was looking forward to.

I am finding relief in punching, kicking the solid air,

Relieving my emotional imbalance with each exhale of breath.

I am none other than who I am.

Stubborn, conceited, anxious, a perfectionist—

Yet here I still stand, still beautiful in my own eyes,

Because throughout my many faces of life, I am still me.