At first I though it was strange that I still didn’t know who I am at the age of 20. I don’t know my style, my favorite color, my style of music, how I enjoy acting, and what I wanted to be perceived as. I thought that I should already have my ducks in a row, a well paying job working toward that white picket fence one day, and a sure plan on how I wanted to live my life.
If that’s the way I am suppose to be at 20, then I’m sorry. I still can’t pick between the color burnt orange and peach, I enjoy wearing bright clothes one day, black the next, and a tee shirt and jeans the following. I still enjoy the heavy metal bands my family thought I outgrew since the black hair dye phases, and I have too many dreams to just pick one job and settle.
My life may be a mess, but this mess is beautiful. I don’t live by the books, I create them. My words are powerful and my actions magnificent. I’m not within the lines, but I draw new ones.
I enjoy life and plan to keep living it this way because this is how I see me: the crazy, indecisive, emotional mess that wants to be an author, a coffee shop/ bar owner, and a rescue farmer at the same time. The girl who actually wears boot cut jeans, yet, can rock some combat boots. The girl who’s mind is high within the clouds while the rest settle for the concrete.