Why did it have to be me? I try so hard to be myself; and when I'm finally pleased--you have to go and do this to me. Do you realize how hard it is to be a teenager in the 90's? Do you realize how hard it is to even accept your own identity? Well, I do. Everyday I struggle to be myself. Not to please you, or your friends. Just to please myself.

So one day I decide to make a webpage. I'm creative. I'm original. I don't copy anyone else but me. You come and visit; all of you do. How am I like you? I try to see what we have in common. I try so hard. I even visit your pages to find out. But it's all the same. Sloppy layout and design, teenage angst, pet ponies and anorexia. Is that me? Is that what I'm all about? Because I just don't see it. Am I really that way? Am I really that juvenile?

And it pisses me off. Because I'm just as insecure as all of you are. I finally like who I've become and it turns out to be you. All of you. It's like I'm sharing a personality with you--and I don't want to. God, I don't want to.

So all I ask of you is this. Before you tell me how much we have in common, before you tell me that I'm just like you; think about who you are and decide whether that really needs saying. Because the world doesn't need 50 of me walking around.

The one and only {i know this much is true},