confessions of a wannabe bad girl by Jennifer DeSantis (15, New York)

They ask me what I believe in. I tell them nothing. 
My backpack is filled with haphazard sheets of paper. It hits the ground like it’s filled with bricks. Or a dead body. 
I live between shades of white 
A metaphorical waiting room, I curse my age 
I should be more happy by now ​

---

I’m fifteen, but nothing has ever happened to make my heart leap out of my chest
​It is still caged between my ribs, and it does not sing 
With the world between my shoulder blades, I wonder if Atlas ever cried. 
I search for salvation and I’m stupid enough to think I can find it in the blue eyes of a boy that sits near me in Spanish class 
He makes conjugating verbs sound like Shakespeare, I listen to him like I listen to my preacher I dare you to grab me by the forearms and save me 
I don’t especially need saving, but I sure do want it 
Apathy is a virtue, I overthink like it’s a sin 
The blue light of my phone is almost bioluminescent, attracting its prey. Suck my blood, I almost beg. I cry over Teen Vogue articles and browse the internet until I feel dirty. 
Carefree girls make me hate myself, I want to prove that I’m just like them 
In the backseat of your white Honda Civic, your hands are my evidence. 
Where is the line between boring and bad, and where should I cross it?

​