by Gabriella Stokstad, age 14
The black mascara dripped down her small face,
smudging as she bent over,
crying into her hands.
Her bleached blonde, layered hair
fell around her back,
her iPhone buzzed with new tweets
but I watched her
turn it off
and stare at her self in the mirror.
She stood, tiptoed in her
navy, hightop Converse and wiped her eyes.
She grabbed her eighth grade yearbook
bounding across the room with her
skinny long legs.
She looked at her picture
then back in the mirror.
No more braces.
No more raccoon eyeliner.
No more blue streaks.
No more chains.
She had changed
but the music and playlists hadn't.
She seemed different,
lighter, hanging out with new people,
trying new things.
But she was hurting inside,
her sanity slowly dripping away,
and I seemed to be the only person
who saw it.
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