You're just 16. Pink nails- a little chipped.
You have a boy's sweatshirt buried deep in your closet that smells like Axe,
and you like it there. You check your myspace, not your math homework.
You picked up weed a couple times, but just to impress others.
Now you hope to God no one remembers when it got around school.
You wear eyeliner like clothing, but your beady little eyes still reflect when
you were punished...over and over. You are bad.
You wear jeans, but they're so tight they cut off circulation to your legs.
You read, but only at 2 am with a flashlight. Reading is uncool.
You listen to music- hard, heavy metal. You try to burn away one day at
a time that your boyfriend hit you, your mom screamed, your friend lied.
You cover your limbs with department store clothing, and when someone
asks you how you are, you smile and show your braces. "great" you say;
making it 235 days in a row you've lied to yourself. You just realized to
yourself that no one cares, including you. you're just a teenager.