An Open Letter to Myself

Dear my eleven year old self,

Today you were alone again during break,

some days you don't mind,

               today you do.

The same small taunting voices run around,

                 poisoning your mind

“ugly,” “fat,” “loser.”

                 Clouds salt the sky as the chains from swings

            break on the cruel, black-topped playground.  

 

Dear twelve year old self,

Today the same harsh little voices, spit acid at you.

whore

Who would have thought a simple choice would lead to this?

Whore.

What good is friendship when all it leads to is heartache?

Whore!

Streams of pity roll down your face, soaking

staining

corrupting

the fresh sheet that could have been a new day.

WHORE!

Dear thirteen year old self,

    Silence.

Nothing but pages,

dark forests with splinters of sunlight,

distant lands adorned with the cascade of waterfalls

endless personalities open their arms to you,  

who needs physical friends?,

page upon page never judge you.

A solitary giggle

interrupts the comfort of the silence..

You look up,your eyes pierce across the room

colorful language fills your mind-

                                       “SHUT UP!” echo’s from an

          unidentifiable place

                                             you say nothing .

                                                                       a page turns quietly.

 

Dear fourteen year old self,

Your eyes shoot daggers at the cluster of bodies,

judging

cursing.

If only they could all just disappear,

Die.

The mere thought of associating with them churns your stomach

How disgusting.

“Form groups”

the teacher says.

Idiot

“Does she not understand?”

Around you, small groups of two

threes

fours

form.

You're the only group of one.

Your tell yourself you don't care,

you beg yourself to not care,

yet

the aching in your heart is  too much to ignore,

once again you want to cry but you hold back the tears.

Embarrassment makes your ears hot, a splash of shame reddens your face.

You scribble more names into your mental hate list.

Die.

 

Dear fifteen year old self,

You open your mouth,

a stream of words finally breaks free.

“I need to tell you something...”

Tears cascade down your face

washing away all your pain, your hate, your loneliness.

Arms encompass you

love you, telling you it's going to be okay.

This burden is no longer yours alone.

A warmth spreads throughout you,

setting ablaze the kindle that fired your will to live.

 

Dear sixteen year old self,

Jumbled words stream out of you, reaching all those around you.

You’ve never been good at public speaking,

yet

there you are

speaking,

stumbling

trying your best to get your point across.

A light blush blossoms across your face,

your palms are moist with sweat,

your legs are slightly shaking,

yet

no one notices. They are enthralled in your words,

they are captivated by your message,

they are moved by your passion.

You stand a little straighter

you speak a little louder

you take up a little more space.

Dear me,

You saw someone in the  mirror today,

broken,

hurt,

unhappy.

You want to cry for them.

Your heart ached for them.

They whispered softly

“I am…”

“I am…”

Yet they stumble

unable finish to their sentence.

You decide to finish the sentence.

You decide to carry their burdens

their pain,

their hate,

their tears.

“I am...”

You decide to finish the sentence.

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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