The thing about being a teenager
is that people expect you to get over things so quickly
simply because “you’re too young to be this sad”
or because “you still have so much life ahead of you”.

Like when you were four years old,
and you fell over outside and scraped your knee,
you were only given so much time to cry
because your mommy gave it a kiss and said,
“It’s all better now”.
And you weren’t allowed a bandage because
“You’re a big girl”.
But you wanted to cry longer and you did need a bandage
because although it was only a scrape,
it still hurt.

Or when you were ten years old,
and you felt something that you assumed was love
for the very first time,
and he didn’t like you back and called you names
and always spoke to the prettier girl.
But your mom just chuckled and said,
“I’m sure he likes you really, stop being silly”,
but he actually didn’t.
But you almost felt ashamed to cry because
you didn’t exactly understand what you were feeling
because you’d never really felt it before.
And you were just… being silly.
But you wanted to cry,
because although you were only young,
it still hurt.

Or when you were eighteen years old,
and you slept with a guy who never called you back,
and then he kissed another girl at the next party,
and probably slept with her, too.
Except you actually cared about him…
maybe too much…
but telling him that is known to be some sort of sin
because “feelings are stupid”
and “being eighteen is for having fun”.
But then it occured to you that you could be in love,
because every time you see him,
you’re reminded of something that you had
for just one night,
and nothing more.
And you cried between your knees,
but only in the shower,
so no one heard…
because if they did,
you would be made to feel like you asked for it.
And even though you know you deserve better,
it still hurt.

That’s the thing about being a teenager.
Things happen and you can’t change them.
You have to just “get on with them” and
“realise that there is so much more to life than this”.
And people tell you that in a few years,
none of it will even matter,
and that’s probably true…
but that doesn’t matter,
because it’s happening to you now.
And right now, it’s killing you.

Not just hurting.
It’s killing you.
And you can feel an actual pain inside your heart,
where happiness used to live,
but you can’t explain that to anyone without being labelled
or seen as someone overreacting.

You can’t tell your friend because she’s found
someone who likes her back.
You can’t tell your mom because she’ll only
tell you things will get better soon and
that’s not something you want to hear
when you believe that they won’t.
You can’t tell a stranger because they don’t
know the full story.
They won’t understand.

So, you keep quiet.
You tell no one.
Do nothing.
Cry some more, and hope to
get past it all by yourself.
And pray to something… anything…
that someday,
you’ll be able to look at certain scars
and not even remember how you got them.

But right now,
the scars hurt and the pain hurts
and trying to forget hurts.

But none of that really matters anyway,
right?

You’re just a teenager, after all.