I could tell you,

As I have seen many sixteen year-old girls tell others,

That my smile covers the tears I’m hiding inside.

That would be a lie.

I’m confused.

I’m confused, and happy, and angry, and tired, and sad,

And truly almost to the brink of concern for myself.

Even though I consider myself to be somewhat independent,

The majority opinion has swayed me.

Enough to doubt myself,

Yet not enough to drive me into a never ending state of pleasing others.

I don’t believe for a moment that this is a lie.

Be responsible, they tell me.

Be happy.

Get a boyfriend, have a family.

You’re in the Bible Belt, be a Christian.

Get a job.

That’s weird, unconventional.

What are you doing? That’s not normal.

Normal teenagers don’t do that, why aren’t you wearing makeup you’re not going to have kids you’re not going to settle down you’ve cut your hair that way what’s wrong with you?

Stop!

Stop telling me this.

Stop putting me in this little box because I’ll be damned if I die hooked up to a machine and have lived for nothing except what you’ve made me.

I don’t want to be perfect,

I don’t want to be ‘normal’,

Worried about boyfriends and the new fashion and how others view me.

I want to be me.

I may not know myself,

At least not as much as others think they know me,

But I do know what I want,

What I stand for,

And how I want to live.

I know I’m dark,

But aren’t we all behind our own masks?

I know who I surround myself with,

People who see me as I am.

I know there are still complexities of my mind that I’ve yet to discover,

Things I enjoy,

Hate,

And prosper with the idea of.

I am swayed by the majority,

Anyone who denies this to themselves is either lying or naïve,

However, I try as hard as I can to pull down the façade,

To break away,

And show people me for who I truly am.

Because, if they don’t like me for who I am,

If they judge me for my unfiltered appearance,

Why would I ache and desire to please them?

And That is not a lie.