Baby girl, you’re not what you used to be
with your hair all brown and frizzy
crinkling into the shape of your pillow
when you sleep with it wet.
You are not your hair, and you are not
what the boy sitting next to you in history class
tells you that you are.

Baby girl, when your friends ask you
to play DDR with them, don’t say you can’t dance.
Don’t tell them that you’d rather watch
because you’re scared of their looks,
but stand up and dance and sing while
you move your mama-given hips back and forth.
Don’t do it for a boy, do it for yourself.

Baby girl, you don’t need to be ashamed
of your glasses, your clothes, your shoes,
that you lent to your friend and she accidentally
painted them orange.
Those shoes will make you unique, and
you need your glasses to see,
Baby girl don’t leave your glasses at home
and resign yourself to a life of squinting
and making people think that they can read for you
because Baby girl, you can read damn well
for yourself.

Baby girl, when you stand under those stage lights
listening to the applause of the crowd,
I hope you don’t forget what got you there.
I hope you can still hear your mother scraping
the inside of her purse to pay for your ballet lessons.
I hope you can still hear your father looking
at the price of the leotards for someone your size
and shaking his head slightly, as you bounced
next to him on both toes, pretending to be
the prima ballerina that you were convinced you were.

Baby girl, don’t give your heart to the people
that have hurt you, or worse, have hurt others.
Don’t let what they say change how you feel and
don’t try to make yourself into a child so
they can treat you like one.
Baby girl, you are so much more than anyone will tell you
and that is what you need to tell them.

An Open Letter To Middle School Girls (twentyfourandahalf)

I dont know you but I like you.


Anonymous asked:

It's sleepover Friday so can you tell us a random story about your past?

mabelsguidetolife answered:

omg so in the seventh grade i had my hair chopped really short 

and on 70s day i was dressed in a leather jacket, a mens rolling stones shirt, some jeans, and aviators

and all day girls from the grade below me flirted with me, thinking i was a guy, and i was too polite to correct them because i didn’t wanna embarrass anybody

and at the end of the year when i was looking at my yearbook i saw a picture of this kinda hot mysterious brunette boy and i was like "oh my god, who IS that"

it was me, dressed in that same goddamn outfit