Dear five-year-old,

You are smart. Do not let anyone else tell you otherwise.

They may call you geek, nerd, dork,

but one day, you will embrace those titles.

Keep your head held high, little one.

Your tiara is slipping.

 

Dear six-year-old,

They call you the President of the Loser Club.

You are its only member.

You think popularity is what you need,

but, in reality, it will only hurt you.

Stick to that one girl you will soon refer to as your sister.

She will help you through your hardest times.

 

Dear seven-year-old,

It is the first time you have heard that word.

You do not even know what “bitch” means.

When that word passes their lips,

pretend you are in the grocery store.

Despite the side glances and strange looks,

you practice your ballet moves up and down the aisles

because you could not care less.

Remember to dance. It is your freedom bell.

 

Dear eight-year-old,

They will call you talentless

even when they have not heard you utter a note.

When Mom goes back to school,

and you find out Grandpop is sick,

and you start weekly sessions with the school counselor,

they will call you a weirdo, a freak.

Ignore those kids. They have no understanding of how you feel.

 

Dear nine-year-old,

You will lose your grandfather,

and when you return from the black hole that is mourning,

they will greet you with words of murder.

It is the first time anyone has told you to die.

I am incredibly sorry, little one, but it will not be the last.

You will clutch at those books that make you feel worth something.

Can you not see? You have always been worth something.

 

Dear ten-year-old,

Your smarts are showing, and

they are the reason for people to either praise

or ostracize you.

You are the only student from your grade going to your new school.

Be happy. Embrace it. You should know by now

that being called a Hermione is a compliment.

Puberty is starting, and you are terrified.

It is the first time you have ever truly worried about your weight.

You know the woman at Target was wrong to call you pregnant,

but it does not make the hurt go away.

Sometimes, even adults still need to grow up.

Be ready. The politicians are the worst.

 

Dear eleven-year-old,

When you stand to ask about a middle school GSA,

they will label you unkindly.

Firstly, know that the word “lesbian” is not an insult.

Secondly, this is only the beginning.

From here, when something is ethically wrong,

you are a force to be reckoned with.

Be proud of your outspokenness.

While they will sneer at you and try to rip you to shreds,

only you can tear yourself down.

 

Dear twelve-year-old,

You will stay up for nearly forty-eight hours

over Christmas break to insure your friend is safe.

You do not know that there will be other times like this.

You only know that, as you try to save her,

you feel yourself slipping as well.

 

Dear thirteen-year-old,

You realize your grades are below an A,

and you feel as if you are failing.

This year is far more difficult than the last,

but you know it will not last forever.

You watch the fantasy world you have always adored

come to life in the eyes and mind of one of your friends,

and you cannot help but smile.

This year, you really learn to love and appreciate the art of poetry.

Hold on to it. It will become your lifeline.

 

Dear fourteen-year-old,

You will find yourself curled in a ball in the dark

because it is the safest place for you to be.

The voices creep into your dreams,

all of the doubts and fears and excuses not to live anymore.

They become a nightly hell. They latch at your throat and choke you.

Do not be afraid of yourself. You are living your only life.

Live it freely.

 

Dear fifteen-year-old,

You are happier but still not whole.

You still carry the weight of your past.

You try to fix the cracks, but even the strongest glue will not help.

One day, you will come across

someone so dear to your heart,

they will plague your mind on a daily basis.

When you meet them,

you do not know they carry weight too.

When you meet them,

you barely know their name, much less their story.

When you meet them,

you do not know that they are broken like you,

but when you meet them,

and they smile at you,

you cannot help but smile back.