Johnny Rumble

I am a twenty-something adult. A third year college enrollee. Politically savvy, non-voting and politician-hater. I am a punk. I’m poor and broke everyday except payday. I live with my parents. I’m a drunk, a morality whore, ex-smoker, who doesn’t live for tomorrow. Or tonight. I’ve never done drugs. I listen to loud, vulgar music. I sing in the car. And anybody that has seen me will say the same thing. I’m a drivers driver. I love twisty mountain roads, full throttle straight-aways, and there is no speed limit. Only speed suggestions. I’ve nearly died, thrice. I go bridge jumping, Hot-tubing, traveling, cruising, I do a lot of cussing. I’m overweight, and will lie to your face about being okay with that. I work for a great boss, enjoy my job when it goes smoothly, and have named one of my tools “Bertha.” I’ve had three girlfriends, been shot-down more times than I want to recall, and lost my virginity. I’ve been told that I’m an excellent kisser. I’m overly romantic, sensitive, enjoy sunsets, raised by my mother, can give you off-the-cuff fashion advice, and feel more comfortable talking to group full of women than men. I have a best friend, and I miss that bastard something fierce. I’m Icelandic by birth, southerner by flesh, Oklahoman by heart, and Californian by unfortunate circumstance. That part about me singing? I lied. I sing about as well as Johnny Rotten. Perhaps I’m too blunt and realistic.
But all these things describe what I am, not who I am. So who am I?
I am the joy on a small child's face unwrapping Christmas gifts. I am the broken heart of a widowed solders wife. I am the tear of the just engaged, and the tear of the just lost. I am the bravery of the child hero, and the fear of the teenage incarcerated. I am whoever and whatever I choose to be. I am.