My Honest Poem

I was born on February 16th in 1998.

Usher’s Nice & Slow was the #1 chart topper that day.

I still listen to that song.

I’m 5’4”.

I weigh 160 pounds.

I don’t know how to dance.

And I’m a sucker for a guy with a great smile and pretty eyes.

I’m still learning how to be an adult.

It’s difficult because I want my parents to constantly be there.

But I get annoyed with them when they’re constantly there.

I was born prematurely and I’ve been late to everything ever since.

I like Dr. Pepper... A lot.

I’ve been told that I’m really bad at telling stories.

I’m bad at telling stories because I go into too much detail.

I’m bad at telling stories because my mind wanders too far ahead and I get distracted.

Secretly I get really nervous every time I tell someone anything because I think I’m going to overshare or not tell it correctly.

I think I’m going to go into too much detail, so instead I don’t speak.

I have a strange fascination with teeth and lips.

You can ask my parents or my siblings,

It’s true.

I think it’s because someone’s teeth and lips show you their character.

When someone smiles,

It tells you if they’re faking or if they really are happy to see you.

Their teeth can tell you if they care about their hygiene.

Do they care about the impression they make on others?

I guess that’s why I spend five minutes brushing my teeth in the morning.

I guess that’s why I try to smile.

Maybe that’s why I would rather make someone else smile than to fake my own.

You see the clouds remind me that I’m not afraid of thunder or lightning.

But I’m scared to death of everything that’s going to happen the very moment that I cry.

I’m clumsy.

Yesterday, I tripped over my brain, landed on my heart, and it shattered like a stained glass window in a church.

I’ve never been in the hospital but I have this broken confidence.

I got it from years of beating myself up over nothing.

I got it from hours upon hours of hearing other berate one another and berating myself for not being brave enough to stand up to the bullies around me,

Until I became the bully.

Except I bullied myself,

And I could never stand up to myself,

I scared me.

I'm sure this sounds weird but I wonder what my pens say about me when I’m not around.

I wonder what the notebooks would say if they could read what I’ve written on their skin.

I wonder what the journals would say if they could remember everything I’ve ripped out of them.

I wonder what my pens would say if they knew,

If they knew that I use them,

To pour out my heart and soul on to the dead carcasses of trees,

Not that I really think about the fact that we’re killing trees for their skin when we could really just use the computer.

Hi, my name is Cassie.

I enjoy sleeping, writing and laughing until my stomach hurts.

But I don’t let my guard down as often as I should.

I have solar power compassion.

And a battery operated smile.

My hobbies include:

Editing my appearance,

Hiding behind a past that doesn’t define me,

And trying to convince my smile that it's not fake.

I don’t know much, but I do know this:

I was told that my parents chose me,

And they still choose me, no matter what I do in life.

And I believe that I was given this life for a purpose,

Which means that I have a purpose,

Even if I don’t always believe so.