"I am 16 going on 17, baby I'm on the brink."
Brink into adulthood, the neighborhood filled with bills, work, babies, and responsibility for the future.
The year of 18 that I sign my own papers with my initials.
An ode to late night girl phone calls, and the years that seem the hardest as adolescents feel insecurities, doubts, and moments of unforgettable laughter and happiness.
Late nights with tea, writing my thoughts, Erykah Badu playing softly, and my lanterns above my bed, calming my tiredness.
The room full of nail polish, makeup, quotes, pictures, inspirational boards, glitter, faith bracelets and revolutionary posters depicting feminism, and the fight for human rights.
Life stories fill the room's ears' as girlfriends come in and leave.
Puffs tissues conquer my trash basket with old papers.
The books that pile up as must-reads.
The colorful, bright collages that brighten my inspiration.
The room that nurtures my way to becoming a woman.