And a variety of other things.
Sixteen going on twenty-three,
Or at least that’s what my mother says.
I’m shorter than most,
But that’s alright.
I like being close to the earth,
Makes me feel grounded.
The mop on my head is blonde,
And brown and purple
I like change, when I can control it.
People call me beautiful, say
I have the eyes of green moss,
And the spirit of sunshine,
But I don’t believe them.
(Chronic self-consciousness is to blame.)
I feel like I’m the worst,
So I project a false confidence,
And act like I’m the best.
I am stuck somewhere between
Who I was, who I am,
And who I
I love the pitter-patter of raindrops,
Especially on the leaves of trees.
I always take my tea with honey,
But never milk.
Spring and fall are my favorite seasons,
They remind me of myself.
Incapable of deciding between cold,
Indecisive is my middle name.
I like sketchbooks
And moleskin notebooks.
I hate high heels and nail polish,
And I love cheesy horror movies.
Flowers make me happier than most things,
But I refuse to pick them.
A life is a life, I am trying to be a vegetarian.
Animals are more important to me
But I can’t tell people this,
Or they call me cruel.
I can’t help that
Humanity disgusts me.
I’m a feminist, not because
“All men are evil”,
But because women deserve
To walk down the street at night without fear.
Fuck the patriarchy.
Fuck rape culture.
Traveling is my top priority,
And I am on a mission, that I started
When I was twelve, to find
The world’s best nachos.
My family calls me intelligent,
But in reality I just read a lot.
Everyone needs an escape from reality,
I think too much.
I’m overprotective of the things I love,
And I get jealous far too easily.
It destroyed my last relationship.
Win my heart with cozy sweaters,
That are five sizes too big.
Feed me pasta and cherry pie,
Watch terrible reality TV with me,
And I’m all yours.
For better or worse.
(Marriage terrifies me)
I’d much prefer
To run around barefoot everywhere,
Feeling the ground beneath my feet.
But it’s “socially unacceptable”
I would live by myself in the forest
If it were possible.
Hypersomnia makes me sleep
Far too much.
Yet I still love early mornings.
Just not school mornings.
Salt and pepper and garlic on everything.
My spirit animal is a fox,
But I still love penguins.
Charles Bukowski is a shitty person,
And I read his poems because of it.
Winter is enjoyable
For the first few months.
Summer is needed because
I enjoy cold fruit smoothies far too much.
I have more friends now
Than I did for five straight years.
I’ve left my shitty past behind me,
But it still catches up some days.
Some days I don’t get out of bed.
Some days I don’t want to exist.
I’m learning to be okay
Without acting on these thoughts.
I don’t think sex is as serious
As everyone else thinks it is.
I talk openly about most subjects.
I think serial killers are fascinating.
I don’t think I could live without
Silver rings and wool cardigans.
Knee high socks make me feel pretty.
“Don’t tell anyone”
Is a permanent part of my vocabulary.
I never have money,
But I manage to spend it anyway.
I have too many necklaces
And I’m damn proud.
New Zealand calls to me on a daily basis.
So does England, and Spain,
And my bed.
I try to be funny.
I’d like to be remembered for my quick wit.
I have a dark sense of humor
That I try to hide.
There is always a bright side.
I get attached to people,
Almost as quickly as I get tired of them.
I hate facial hair and muscles,
But that could be because I was born
With “socially unacceptable” hanging off my back.
I’m sorry, I like girls.
My name is Sheridan.
And I have no idea who I am.
But that’s okay,