I am the good girl.
I am smart.
I get good grades.
I am creative and talented.
I make good choices.
I stick up for those in need.
I send in my check every month to feed starving children.
I am the bad girl.
I don't do my homework.
I go into chatrooms, even though I'm not supposed to.
I yell at my parents.
I hit my sister.
I am mean to my nieces and nephews.
I talk badly about my teachers.
I've done things I wouldn't write down on paper.
I am a loner.
I sit alone at lunch.
I don't talk to other people.
I'm fine having only a few friends.
I hide in my room and read.
I am embarrassed when complimented.
I am outgoing.
I want to be noticed.
I want people to like and admire me.
I want lots of friends, real friends who think highly of me.
I crave attention.
This is what drives me.
I want my work to be realized for what it is.
I love being complimented.
I am a happy person.
I smile a lot.
I try to see the best in life.
I love to laugh, and I like to make others laugh.
I am a sad, lonely person.
I used to cry a lot.
Now, I simply sigh myself to sleep.
I feel alone, like no one cares.
I often think of my sorrows.
I let the pain overwhelm me.
I am confident.
I know I am a good writer.
I am proud of the fact that I've written a book
and had a poem published by the age of 15.
I think of myself as talented, a great actress.
I am sure of my intelligence.
I am self-conscious.
I see only the flaws in my writing.
I think my book is horrid.
I am sure my published poem isn't half as good as it could be.
I torture myself with thoughts of how bad an actress I really am.
I know I'm not as smart as others seem to think.
I am a mystery, even to myself.
I am an enigma, full of contradictions.
I am never always anything.
I constantly change.
But this is who I am.
I am me.
I am smart.
I get good grades.
I am creative and talented.
I make good choices.
I stick up for those in need.
I send in my check every month to feed starving children.
I am the bad girl.
I don't do my homework.
I go into chatrooms, even though I'm not supposed to.
I yell at my parents.
I hit my sister.
I am mean to my nieces and nephews.
I talk badly about my teachers.
I've done things I wouldn't write down on paper.
I am a loner.
I sit alone at lunch.
I don't talk to other people.
I'm fine having only a few friends.
I hide in my room and read.
I am embarrassed when complimented.
I am outgoing.
I want to be noticed.
I want people to like and admire me.
I want lots of friends, real friends who think highly of me.
I crave attention.
This is what drives me.
I want my work to be realized for what it is.
I love being complimented.
I am a happy person.
I smile a lot.
I try to see the best in life.
I love to laugh, and I like to make others laugh.
I am a sad, lonely person.
I used to cry a lot.
Now, I simply sigh myself to sleep.
I feel alone, like no one cares.
I often think of my sorrows.
I let the pain overwhelm me.
I am confident.
I know I am a good writer.
I am proud of the fact that I've written a book
and had a poem published by the age of 15.
I think of myself as talented, a great actress.
I am sure of my intelligence.
I am self-conscious.
I see only the flaws in my writing.
I think my book is horrid.
I am sure my published poem isn't half as good as it could be.
I torture myself with thoughts of how bad an actress I really am.
I know I'm not as smart as others seem to think.
I am a mystery, even to myself.
I am an enigma, full of contradictions.
I am never always anything.
I constantly change.
But this is who I am.
I am me.
