Here’s to the girls with a pencil in their dyed-dark hair
With messy pieces falling, nearly blocking their vision
Sitting quiet in that too small classroom, scribbling in their golden notebooks
Desiring to catch every precious passing moment
Desiring to create a new world out of the one they already have
But nothing appealing or worthy of note is happening
Here’s to the girls with expensive socks
Nobody asks, only assumptions
Are you okay? How do you feel today?
Trying to fit in and eat less and silently screaming in the mirror, “you’re not good enough
Unless you wear Nike”
Here’s to the girls walking home in the rain
Feeling powerful and nostalgic all at once
Because for the first time in a long time
He’s gone and she’s okay
Letting the heavy drops drench their curls
The puddles reflect their mascara stained faces
But the storms don’t reflect what’s in their hearts anymore
Here’s to the girls with their noses in textbooks
Skipping out on teenage euphoria
Studying Spanish and symmetry about the origin
But they've forgotten their origins
Sacrificing social acceptance for college acceptance
Letters
Here’s to the girls with chalky hands
Pushing and pushing and pushing
Pleasing parents but perishing internally
How long until your bar routine begins to waver
because the bar is set too high;
How long until you don’t stick the landing?
Here’s to the girls onstage
Refusing to hide behind the grand drape
Creating characters in the spotlight
Memorizing so many scripted personalities that it’s hard to keep track
Claiming it’s their passion
But forgetting how to act like themselves
Around the people who know their lines better than they do
Here’s to the girls who have absolutely no idea
Their infinite worth
More than silver
More than gold
More than those Marchesa F/W 2015 heels
Here’s to the girls in the waiting room
Who know what they’re in for, but don’t know how to get out
Who have learned to call a needle a savior
And eleven pills in the morning a few friends
Who notice the carpet matches the walls
And refuse to be defeated by their own bodies
Here’s to the girls with smeared lipstick
Who constantly have that one boy on their mind
Who pretend not to care about what people think about them
But inside they’re dying to know
Here’s to the girls who can’t sleep
But can’t stay awake either
Here’s to the girls driving alone at night
Blaring their music because they don’t want to admit they’re still afraid of the dark
Here’s to the girls with messy hair and a messy mind and a messy room
Sometimes messes are beautiful
But sometimes they need to be cleaned up
