In six months, I will no longer be a teenage girl

The years most romanticized

Most longed for

Most stigmatized

Washed away

I wonder what is left of my girlhood

Unsure of my body because it could never be “perfect”

Terrified of being good enough because if I was, I’d be a threat

Where was the threat?

What invisible hand moved the queen in front of the king

The most powerful figure taking a blow to save a man’s inadequacy

We had a real girlhood

Streets and buses like petting zoos

The male gaze groping our chests, thighs, backside

Shouts, whistles, smirks

When will I be free? she’d ask

Hiding behind my leg

My little colt

Girlhood is public property

A blindfold, a gag, a knife

Held by those you thought you could trust

Bruises, both there and untouchable

All in the name of love, belonging

We are a map of scars

Traces where men have stepped

Lines tracing my friends bodies

Lines guided by men

The men that say,

Stop, if only for me

Everything is for you

My girlhood was never mine

It squished me into the cupboard that was your insecurities, your violent fantasies

I grieve the girlhood that was mine

Butterflies and sticky hands

Lips stained blue from popsicles

Proudly worn skin, undeveloped chest

I grieve what she was made for

An un-sexualized existence

Not a slur hidden in the rolls of my body

Girlhood is a dungeon painted in gold

Leaving it is becoming

I’d rather be seen as worthless than desirable

Maybe then I could be listened to,

If only by those who understand

Extraordinary things grow in the shadows

Our girlhood grieves softly in the darkness