I am the girl behind the red door—

the one with freckled skin the color of snow,

barely blue eyeballs and hair the shade

of a sunset.

I am the girl who hates tomatoes and politics.

The girl surrounded by Packers and

Brewers fans yet loves Chicago sports.

I am the girl with feet echoing through the empty house

blasting Khalid when I’m home alone.

The girl in love with impulse plans that raise my dad’s

blood pressure.

I am the girl with a pretty house but a broken home.

The one with utter self-reliance due to absence of a mother.

The girl with two older brothers in college who

try to accept she’s not a baby anymore.

I am the girl that shamelessly eats french fries and

a strawberry shake roughly once a week.

The one in love with starry summer nights

amping “Tongue Tied” by Grouplove with the best of friends

as we cruise to the nearest house party.

I am the girl with a piece of her heart that rests in

a fifty year-old home with a creaky wooden porch swing

in Geneva, Illinois where countless allnighters have taken place.

The home where my best friend of two years now lives.

I am the girl obsessed with stunning, shimmering city night lights.

The one that is immune to safe suburban streets but longs

for a lavish life rich with spontaneity.

I am the girl with a soft spot for flowers, flying, and fishing.

The one focused on high school gymnastics

yet refuses to pass up a day on the lake, or sleeping

in on a crisp autumn morning.

I am the girl behind the red door.