The Teenager

There she sits.
Surrounded by friends and yet so alone.
The friends laugh and she laughs.
She must always laugh.

The clothes are too tight for her body type.
But she must wear them.

Her hair is better suited for another style.
But she must keep it.

I ache for her.
I long to walk over to her and tell her that one day it will be okay.
One day she will wear what she likes.
One day she will not laugh if it doesn't strike her as funny.
One day she will know who she is.
And she will be more comfortable with that person than with the clone of others that she is now.

But for now she sits.
Wearing doubt on her shoulders.