You’re 14. You’re not only still learning about yourself, you’re still forming. This is a time for phases, and that’s not a bad thing. Revel in phases like you’ve never been old enough to before and never be young enough to do again.
Try phases. Wear ugly nail polish. Dip-dye your hair. Cut it all off. Cry about that. Wear hats and wigs or not. Pierce your belly button with a sewing needle and ice and have it get infected and ooze pus on your favourite shirt and learn why you’ll get all your other piercings done at a shop. Weep yourself sick over things you’ll think are stupid in six months, six days or six hours… or things that will scar your heart until you’re eighty. Know that you’ll survive both. Eat an entire cheesecake because your metabolism is young. Try wine coolers and learn that they’re disgusting and a sip of Shiraz you’ll need a job to afford and learn that it can be disgusting too. Be a poet this week and don’t shower and wander around barefoot at night thinking deep thoughts until you step in dog cr/p, then be a photojournalist, then an activist, then a vegan, then a misanthropic nihilist. Get your heart broken. Survive it. Be fifteen versions of yourself in sixteen weeks and try on selves like blue jeans until you find the one that fits for now and makes you feel amazing and know that it’s ok if it doesn’t fit later because you’re still growing and there are always more on the shelves and in weird little thrift stores and you can even sew your own. Kiss boys, kiss girls, kiss people who are neither or both, kiss puppies and babies and photos of celebrities and old books. Kiss being 14 – deeply, wetly, messily – before you have to kiss it good bye and worry about what labels stick. 




^{-ok saw this on tumblr & thought it was inspirational enough to post on here - for the people that don't have tumblr
-NMF}