When I was 17, I did the things that most 17 year olds do. I underlined books of poetry and novels. I spent hours making playlists and finding new music and choosing what concert to go to next. I wrote in a journal and plastered my walls with images and words that inspired me. I […]
If you meet me in real life, I am probably not the same person you know from Instagram. I don’t sound the same. I don’t talk the same way. I probably don’t even look quite the same. I never have, and I guess there’s a chance I never will.
But that’s OK with me now.
Although I’m 24 and have lived in New York for over two years now, I still have a Florida Driver’s License with a photo from 2009. I was 16 then, and my hobbies included things like writing poetry at Starbucks while waiting for my mom to come pick me up and complaining that I would die alone. I had side-swept bangs, didn’t know how to use makeup, and was 6 feet tall — as I have been since I was about 14. I didn’t like being tall. I hated it.