Ever since some young age I’ve been waiting for the day I was older. Always pining for the experiences, the new foreign feelings. The emotions, the endorphins, the testosterone flooding my body with the new-found confidence that seemed to ooze from all teenagers. There was a power that came from that title. Me! A teenage girl in the twenty-first century. It was magical, almost heart-stopping as I crawled my way up the age tree. TV-fueled these feelings, PARTIES! ROMANCE! FREEDOM! Always blasting itself through the screen beckoning me to join them. Sometimes I felt like I could reach out and slip into their world and become part of their society. But every time my hand touched the screen all I hit was tough plastic and glass. And I was once again stuck starring and waiting and becoming less patient and frustrated at the slow progress. You could call me naive, but I considered myself to be a dreamer. Gently dancing through until I could become who I was truly meant to be. Now, this wasn’t all I built up when I was young, I had more. I had ways to boost the progress to speed along things to keep me occupied for the time being. What else were there other than, BOYS, BOYS, BOYS! Boy crazy was what people would call it. You couldn’t be without a partner, a mate, a boy, a man. And I tried. I tried so hard at times I’m surprised the desperation didn’t leak out my pores. I was very shy, almost frightfully so. I fled from spotlight like a rat-faced with a flashlight. Every unfamiliar gaze sent me running like my feet were on fire. Then with some new-found bravado I spoke, though rarely to boys that caught my eye. Looking back on it, it was cringe-worthy to say the least. With my atrocious talking skills always interrupted every few seconds with the feeling to stu-stu-stu-stutter and the need to bite my tongue off from the way too soft words. Though through some magic of sorts, I actually did gain a boy or two or three. Now what did that do to my painfully desolated psyche when things went extremely wrong? Who’s at fault, who’s the culprit, who didn’t try hard enough. I was in grade school; did it really matter? But then again it did matter. Every failed attempt I sulked and tried again, slowly moving up a grade until it was finally time. When my birthday loomed nye and little old twelve-year-old me starred at the clock counting the seconds, holding her breathe. Then finally the stroke of midnight! I was finally a teen a very people starved, sad, lonely teen. Still pinning still feeling like I was less because a few bad attempts and a couple of destroyed friendships. Did that stop me, no it didn’t, I stilled pushed looking for that one person to have and to hold. Now you see, I wish they would have just rejected me because maybe if I was hurt the first times I wouldn’t have kept going. Maybe I would have actually waited. Maybe now I would have a sense of what a relationship is supposed to be. But it did happen like that and I wish I wasn’t so hung up on the maybes and just let it go the second the memories turned sour.
Boys are overrated.
Anyways, I really love your use of capitalization throughout this and the ‘stu-stu-stu-stutter’. This piece is very self aware and very you.
I love how this started, and the energy throughout the whole piece. It was really unlike your other blogs, but at the same time, I could tell it was all yours. I remember you telling me that we can change the font now – yours really works with this specific piece. I also like how some of the words are in all caps, eluding to the media you are talking about. This was really personal, and you should write like it more; it was really nice:)