Who am I?

I am just a girl.  Standing in front of the world.  Asking it to love me.  

Knowing that this is impossible, I'm just a girl, with opinions.  Standing in front of a microphone, demanding to be heard.  

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When I was a wee toddler, my family used to love asking me what my name was.  I would reply defiantly, "I am Pimmie Annie Fota!" 

I was adopted when I was six months old.  Like a parakeet, I stared into mirrors at a young age.  I wasn't searching for wrinkles or seeing if I had imperfections.  I was looking for answers.  I was looking for clues.  I read too many Nancy Drew mysteries as a kid.  I tried to figure out where my blue eyes came from.  I wondered where I had gotten my thin upper lip.  My ears perked up in biology class when we talked about Gregor Mendel and his theories about genes.  I found no clues.  I saw no answers.  

I was an original.  Raised by a village.  German, Polish, American at its core.  My genes are part of the story.  This is the rest.  This is the microphone I searched for all of my life.