hell is a teenage girl

pink and purple
are often mistaken for the black and blue
of what it’s like to live
as a teenage girl

screamers, criers
boy-chasers, homewreckers
loud mouths with lip-gloss  
hell is a teenage girl

you tell me I am too much, but what I became was not enough
you tell me to talk like I have a brain, but with one I am too intimidating
you tell me to act like I care, but now I am too emotional
you tell me what to wear, but how I wear it is too provocative
you tell me how to speak, but I go and say it wrong
because every ‘like’ and every ‘totally’  
adds another tally
to the list of reasons
i should rot in hell
for being a teenage girl

but after being molded like clay under your hands I ask: can the clouds cover the sun forever?
does anything shine so loud, so bright, so unavoidable as the teenage girl?
shining so bright it burns, coming back after the stormiest day
shining on everything around it every leaf and tree and person bringing out fullest colors
so alive: breathes of gusting wind, heart beats wild bass lines, moving feet of our mothers’
running
chasing
jumping
spinning
show me a voice that can scream louder and fight stronger and think faster and want even more
who will dance with themselves to music that isn’t playing and stare at the moon and be in love with life as it is meant to be
show me the embers that burn of gold
show me a hell that is hotter than the teenage girl