Dear Past Self,

Thank you for showing me how hate is a double edged sword,

Threading each of my veins every time I take a breath,

So that I now may feel love,

Relieving and light, an exhalation of sunbeams.

My muse, all I know is what I know.

I’ve starved myself of kindness,

Wondered when I’ll grow into my spaghetti legs

Or my shoehorn of a nose

Or my pool noodle neck.

You’ve taught me that I’m allowed to take up space.

My legs are graceful, two tree branches intertwined and outstretching.

My nose is friendly, saying “hello.”

My neck is elegant, a long ballerina line.

I’m a swan beginning to soar, not quite sure how, but attempting nevertheless.

Grateful for your appearance but adorative of your departure,

Your Creator