Shade of Emerald

Sometimes I wonder why I can’t speak up more in class. Other times, I wonder why tears come easily to those who are strong. Middle school is a time where you get to know who you are and find your self: NO! I’m sorry insert name (mom, grandma, dad, big brother.) You are utterly and completely wrong. And I know you’ve been brought up on cereal, picket fences, and polished kitchen counter tops, but you know that’s not true. You’ve experienced this tragedy yourself haven’t you? Hey, I don’t blame you for blocking out these horrid memories. In fact, in 20 years I’ll be sitting with my daughter preaching a slight variation of these exact words. She knows I don’t understand and I oblige because it hurts to think back to when I was awkward and unwanted. I was no more than a mere strand of grass in a meadow. I am the perfect height, I don’t stick out and I’m not too short. I’m the perfect shade of emerald, not too light not too dark. And when the strand next to me buds and blossoms, I’m jealous. I wish I was that flower, not just a stupid blade of grass. I guess I don’t really understand though, the people I grow jealous of. What if her mother has cancer? What if she cuts herself? What if she writes on a blog because no one else will listen? So you may think, if you believe anything is possible, maybe you have the wrong outlook. All I’m going to say is that millions of desperate, teen girls believe that the worlds biggest boy band will show up at there door and fall in love with them. So far this has proved unsuccessful, because I’m still single.