Think about it, you're a 16 years old girl whose brain is delicate and filled with the idealization of death, romantacizing double suicide with your significant other and you're inside a comfort room stall fixing your knee socks that the school requires and you hate it so much, fixing your tucked in blouse and the blazer that made you sweat in a scorching hot weather and you just wanted to go home.
And when you set foot outside the stall, you'd see woman reapplying their foundation and lip balm and blush-ons to make their cheeks go puff and their mouth swell red, and they'd stare at you and call your name like it was the most beautiful thing ever and as a 16 years old girl, watching your fellow 16 years old do their amateuristic make up, you think that they're the most beautiful woman you have ever laid your sight on.
Why? They look good in those knee socks and black heeled school shoes, those tucked in blouses that fits them perfectly, blazers that was ironed into perfection and you're just there, a 16 years old with a coconut for a hairstyle because during the summer you had a haircut that you regret so much but here you are— infront of maidens blossoming into women, and you can smell their perfume down your throat and you'd think to yourself you hope you don't smell like a rotten flesh because your mind is as rotten with all the death idealization, but good lord, this girls will flock around you and something within your chest starts tightening, and they'd whisper that your hair smells good, and you look cute the way you are. Ah yes, girls loving girls, the smell of innocence and women, and make up, and their perfume.
And now, 4 years later, you're 19 almost 20. Looking back on those days inside the comfort room with girls around your age you'd think that 16 was so young— but when you were that age you think you're mature and big, and womanly but the truth is, you're just a child and 16 is no different from the 10 years old you. Yet 4 years later with the same thoughts yet different perspective in life, still the same looking, still admiring women redoing their make up, falling in love with their voices when it calls your name, recalling how those 16 years old admired and loved you for being you, and as a woman coming into terms with her sexuality, it'll start making sense.
Why you're inlove with the smell of their perfume, why your chest tightens when they're close and how it caught you off-guard when they suddenly hold your hand out of nowhere and why sometimes, when you're inside their room that reeks of their smell with their personal belongings, you'd have stupid thoughts about dating them — but you're just a 16 years old girl who grew up in a very Christian-y household so why would it make sense to a 16 years old, that she might have a crush yet she don't realize it. That you admiring someone and wanting to follow them around was not a feeling of wanting to be 'friends' with them.
You had a man as a crush, one that looks funky and makes good art. You had a crush on a woman, she has long hair and holds your hand. You had a crush with your gay schoolmate who you wanted to support so bad because they dance so good but you know you'll never had a chance because they like men. And your woman crush also likes men, and the man you like didn't even accept your stupid friend request on his social media. And when you saw your teacher do dance sports you started tearing up because you're so inlove with women that you think it's just a stupid admiration but good lord, you'd go through hell just to let them know you adore them, you just adore them. And you cried at night asking God to forgive you for loving women—
And if He was type of God, you're so willing to abandon your faith just to feel that freedom of feeling and liking someone you like without being held back by a belief that everyone based off of old testament that you studied day and night and now you're just a 20 years old girl, who no longer held her God close to her heart— because everyone was so mean to you and only talked about the rapture when you're idealizing death and wanted to have someone to talk to.
I cared a lot about God and his bible, but I did not like it when people starts using it against people like some sort of weapon and starting hurting others because they think they are better and superior for knowing God. And all of this came all at once in a comfort room stall, rethinking everything.
That you're now an individual not molded by anyone's words. You took the leap when you were 16 and now you're brave. You're still shaking in anxiety but now you don't care when people says bullshit about what you want, what you like.
And your grandma still asks you the question she asked you when you were 16, "Do you have a girlfriend?" And you'd laugh and hug her, and tell everyone that your girlfriend is your grandma and she'll smile happily. Because she always knew, that you might like men, but you also liked women.
And now you're 20, just 20. With yourself and anxiety and back pains and boyfriend. Fixing your childhood trauma one after another. You no longer wear knee socks and blazers and tucked in blouse uniforms. But you're still on the side watching woman reapply their make up— because they're beautiful when they like themselves.
