Is my existence validated?

High patterned socks. Converse, All Star that is, not One Stars that are $20 cheaper. The most expensive the better. Doc Martens. Vans. Think legs. Bony elbows. Short skirts.

What has our generation been reduced to?

I cringe at the girls that surround me who smile with a hollowness, who laugh with an emptiness, echoing with waves of ache. "Notice me", their branded bags seems to scream. "I've conformed, look at what I'm wearing. It's the same as what you guys are! Is my existence validated?". 

But how do they expect boys to treat them like royalty when they aren't even treating themselves. To a facial expression that is not constantly in tune with the one that the girl next to them is wearing. To lids that are not heavy with makeup, night and day. (Slippery gunk, smother shimmer, use the weird scalpel thing to curl your eyelashes: and voilà! Guaranteed popularity!). To tastes that fill their cheeks and wrap around their stomach. To a single independent breath, letting them stretch up, extend their backs and allowing their lungs to do what lungs do.

But maybe I am lying. Maybe this is something I tell myself to feel OK. Because who knows?

Maybe conforming is the only way to pass the time.