I’ve heard it before and I’ll hear it again, a phrase that makes my blood boil, my skin crawl. Why? Why must I toss this phrase over and over in my mind, why must I revolve my entire existence around the fear of a collection of words? Because the truth is I AM full of myself. I am full of myself down to the very cells of my skin, I am completely and utterly made up of myself. Every bone in my body and hair in my head is mine, and I will not apologize for that. I am full of my awkwardness when meeting new people. I am full of my stubborn ways and unspoken sensitivity. I am full of my awe and wonder for every corner of every place MY eyes have seen. I am full of stories I’ve never written and songs I can’t sing. I’m full of inspiration. I’m full of joy when discovering something new. I’m full of love for unspoken beauty. I’m full of admiration for those who never, ever give up, even at times when they were not quite full of themselves too. Let your tall glass overflow with yourself, become so full of being you that yourself tumbles onto the sidewalk when greeting strangers. Whisper ever so slightly that a bit of yourself floats into the darkening sky. Make sure you are so full of yourself that even when you lose a little in your midnight tears, there is enough of yourself to wipe them away. There is more to life than mirrors and pointless words from jealous lips, but insulting one’s fullness with themselves is far easier than understanding the lack of your own. Don’t forget to be full of yourself too.