Inner Ramblings of a Teenage Girl by Emma Kamara (14, Virginia)

Inspired by Rudy Francisco's ​My Honest Poem.

I was born on December 21.
That makes me a Sagittarius on the cusp of Capricorn.
If I was only born a few hours later, I’d maybe carry the strong, confident, practical, disciplined traits of a Capricorn. 
The kind of girl that’s first to raise her hand to answer every question the teacher asks in class.
The kind of girl who doesn’t stare into the mirror for longer than she should.

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She’s stable. 
She’s sure. 
Instead, I got the overthinking, anxious traits of a Sagittarius. 
I use my zodiac sign as an excuse as to why I am the polar opposite of that girl. 

I’m still learning how to be comfortable in my own skin.
I’m 5’5, but a solid 5’4 when slouching in a crowd in an attempt to blend in. 
I am unathletic and uncoordinated.
I hate gym class. 
I have curly unruly dirty blonde hair that I constantly straighten to fit society's beauty standards.

I can tell you how to play any melody by ear, 
or the chords to any song on guitar, 
but I can’t solve for x to save my life. 

But I do well in school because the little critic that sits on a high barstool in the orbitofrontal cortex of my brain laughs at my mistakes and leaves me no other option. 
I usually find myself painting his perfect picture of me in my head, and trying too hard to bring it to life. 
Like an amateur artist's parody of Van Gogh.

I think life moves slowly.
I moved away from my hometown this summer.
The people I made friendship bracelets for on the 2nd grade playground,
the stupid inside jokes that my best friends and I made up and forgot the meaning of,
the kids I never learned the names of at school,
that in my mind solely were only there to fill the empty desks in my classrooms,
I left each and every one of them behind. 
Though it feels to me as if my present is unhurried, 
life back home without me still moves just as fast paced.
People can talk a lot about how much they miss you and how much they wish they had you around.
But talk is talk.
I could easily talk about how much I miss reckless New Jersey drivers.

I ask “What if?” and “Why?” too much and worry about a future that doesn't even exist yet. 
My 7th grade French teacher once told me I ask too many questions.
Ever since the words of his criticism left his lips, my fear of questioning, or being wrong increased irrationally.
Confidence is the concealer I put on under my eyes every morning; It covers my eye bags to hide the fact that I couldn't sleep last night because I was awake worrying about today. 
Temporary. Fake. 

I’m Emma.
I enjoy iced tea, reading, and laughing at things that aren’t funny.
A glass bottle labeled “fragile” stores all of my hidden emotions.
The contents of the bottle are inevident from the outside. 
The mind barrier known as perfectionism seals it shut and shoves it away to never be revealed. 
Eventually, my bottle will overflow. 

I have a solar-powered social battery 
And a battery operated attention span. 
You see, I don't know much but I do know this;
I know that life is not an easy going ride.
It’s actually full of potholes
and traffic jams
car wrecks. 
But even if the road I’m driving is the wrong one, 
My excursion was my lesson 
Not my destination.