You’re a teenager. 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 will 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 bellybutton with a sewing need and ice and have it get infected and ooze puss on your favorite shirt and learn why you’ll get all 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 80. Know that you’ll survive. Eat an entire cheesecake because your metabolism is young. Try wine coolers and learn that they are disgusting and a sip of Shiraz you’ll need a job to afford and that 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 poop, then be a photojournalist, and then an activist, then a vegan, and then a misanthropic nihilist. Get your heart broken. Survive it. Be fifteen versions of yourself in sixteen weeks and try on selves life blue jeans until you find one that fits for now that makes you feel amazing and know that it’s okay if it doesn’t fit later because you are 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 that are neither or both, kiss puppies and babies, kiss pictures of celebrities and old books. Kiss being a teenager- deeply, wetly, messily- before you have to kiss it goodbye and worry about what labels stick.