A teenage girls brain is a strange thing, they say.
It has the ability of scrutinising appearances and pointing out a blemish on a perfectly smooth painted canvas.
It has the ability of blossoming with love and pain and beauty
It has the ability of taking someones words and twisting them into something they did not want to hear.
A teenage girls brain is its own world, with meadows of flowers and beauty and waterfalls of fear and sadness.
When did we get like this?
Were we born being able to criticise ourselves and hate ourselves?
When we were younger, sitting on our mothers bed as she prepared herself to go out.
I look so big in this, she says
I wish I still looked like you, she says
I wish I looked different, she says
A teenage girls brain is a strange thing
It has the ability to remember
It has the ability to never forget hushed words spoken in front of a mirror, under the dim light of the bedroom lamp
It has the ability to love and hate and cry and laugh and scream
Why is it that I never want to change a teenage girls brain?
