Chemically straightened hair.
False eyelashes glued with chemical glue.
Matte chemically filled foundation making one hell of a catfish potion.
Extensions and long fake nails glued on tight.
Legs shaved and silky making her quite the sight.
She's changing, allowing chemicals to alter her balance.
Alongside the birth control her doctor prescribed when she was twelve.
These chemical compounds have made her lose herself.
Her culture has accommodated the stereotypical slurs that she’s trendy or she's fake.
Her real self has been placed on the shelf.
All her friends wear this so it must be cool.
Her favorite rapper wears thongs and fishnets.
Crop tops and ripped jeans.
Sew the pants but leave some ripped seams.
Like the ripped caution tape at her death scene.
She was being followed home.
She looked irresistible, So grown.
She was fifteen, fifteen to which standard.
Millennial standard fifteen is the new twenty one.
Every picture she sticks out her tongue.
So she must know grown folks business.
She dresses grown acts grown but what is grown.
Seeing what everyone else marks grown and copying.
Accepting your sexuality and not hiding it away. Being bilantly open.
Matching your acts to everything you say.
She walks with confidence which translates to maturity.
But like the melanin in her skin that stays forever and brings its perks, she just matured early.
And alongside the social concept that she must act this way, talk this way, feel and look this way.
She is grown.
But no she's a child playing dress up because that's what kids do.
Except society is so sick that dress up is a beauty pageant and she must win.
I mean that is if she wants to fit in.
She didn't know fitting in would be fitting in the child sized body bag.
Makes her wish those countless summers when the only worry was getting the ball back from under the car were endless.
But it's too late she's grown.
But nevertheless knowing society is on her side she'll never grow past this age.
No the only thing grown is her fifteen year old body decaying.