The starting sentence

I'll be completely honest.

I'm crazy. Is it normal for a 14-goingon-15 year old girl to admit that? No. Probably not. Yet, as I stand surrounded by fake-bleached hair and skin-baring crop tops, I have to either accept that I, or everyone else around me, is crazy.

I have a fear of showing skin, a love for oversized sweaters, and a crush on possibly the most innocent boy to walk the face of the earth, though he is completely oblivous to that fact.

I enjoy making strangers and friends alike smile, and I watch My Little Pony religiously.

Welcome to the ranting of my senile mind.