Marisa Donnelly

You are not wrong for the craziness you feel. The excitement at a simple touch, a smile, a small gesture. It’s okay to hold onto a hug for just a moment too long, to stay in bed an extra minute, just to feel his touch on your skin.

If listening you’re your drunk friends wasn’t bad enough, now imagine sitting through the four-hour family shindig. Completely. Sober.

“You are such a girl.” This phrase was casual. Maybe an insult, but more likely a tease. A seemingly-harmless line my guy friends threw out there just to poke fun at my ‘feminine’ traits.

Hugs when you’re happy. Hugs when you’re down. Hugs at the start of the school day. Hugs when an older student comes back to visit your classroom. Hugs when a student skins her knee. Hugs after a long day.

“The act of love is easy,” I said, “It’s loving that’s hard.”

Little things do really matter.

The ingesting of strange substances. Such as crayons, chalk, boogers, Elmer’s glue, or others.

I love the stillness of the ground, the quiet after a dusting, the way the world seems holy, untouched.

You get to kiss whoever the heck you want come midnight on New Year’s.

You are more than a face in the mirror, you know. You are more than a body walking the halls of a high school, more than the catty girls and more than the eyeing boys.

It smells like poop. Frequently.

You are not the girl who calls her best friend before the party and asks what to wear, who goes to the mall with several others, who reads the group text religiously to know what she’s doing with her Saturday afternoon.