Every time I run in the grocery store alone. The mall. Any place, I get those looks. The ones that everyone under 18 gets when they go out into the world independently. There’s “the side glare that they pretend to not be throwing”, “scowl of judgment”, and my favorite “the quick, look away, ooh you definitely didn’t just see me looking at you”. It can be the customers, clerks, or cashiers. I wish I was like the waves, able to flow and shift and adapt to any situation; going, flowing, careening, forming. I can mold to fit their standards, those that are overlooked when the adults walk in the room. Am I treated this way because of everyone else’s stupid actions?

I am a book, one that they won’t read, but just look at its cover. It might be thin, its story just beginning, but it's dense. Full of knowledge, facts, and thoughts that all paint their bright picture. The books are pristine, but it is like any other, thinking and talking and thinking and wanting and functioning. Just passing on its journey from place to place. A stop on the road.

It is quickly growing, but for now, it just needs a bottle of olive oil, a roll of paper towels, and a tub of Ben & Jerry’s.