They Tell Us

These are the best years of your lives, they tell us,
so stop pretending you're truly suffering.
Chin up, they tell us,
mask your grimace with your widest smile
because everthing is fine.
Stop complaining, they tell us,
middle-school kids can be annoying but
just ignore them,
you're better,
why succumb to their level
and get angry?
You're on the cusp of adulthood
but not quite there yet
so enjoy this moment while you still can
where you have responsibility
but don't have to fully take care of yourself,
and please don't slam the door,
you're just being dramatic.

I'll stare at them and want to scream,
but I won't,
because I'm thirteen and I know better.
I'll just walk away
and pretend I don't care,
because maybe they're right, maybe everything's fine.
But then I remember –
I remember a younger version of myself who couldn't wait to be a teenager,
and now that she is,
she cries saltwater tears for the person she once was
and wishes she could go back in time five years
just to return
to when everything was fine, back when all her smiles weren't forced
when growing up was a distant dream,
not imminent doom.
Back to the times of daisy chains and math facts
of instant best friends and reading by flashlight under warm covers
back when nobody expected much of her
back when she could just be a kid and enjoy herself,
and I know they never say this, but being a teenager means
your childhood is being ripped away from you, piece by piece
and it ages you into someone who pretends to be grown up, mature, adult,
someone who masks tears with dark mascara,
covers frowns with a fresh coat of lip gloss.
We pretend we're fine, because that's what they tell us we have to be.
But really,
we're all falling apart.