Dear Younger Me,
You can try, as hard as you want to change yourself,
to fit into the mold of perfection that society has idealized,
but in the end you can’t run from who you are.
Society instills a sense of self worthlessness in those who don’t meet the requirements of social norms,
Like somehow because we aren’t all the same we should be ashamed of who we are.
They’ll try everything to make you change, pushing you around, telling you they wished they were dead, calling you names.
By now I’ve heard them all, weird, nerd, geek, slut, whore, bitch; and they keep going.
Sometimes the words hurt more than actually getting punched.
Each one a sharper dagger, slowly clawing its way to your bandaged heart.
I know it hurts, and they know they hurt you.
There are gonna be times when you wanna die,
When crying isn’t enough,
When the knife drawer in the kitchen calls you day in and day out.
With a trembling hand you’ll pick up the knife,
Ready to end the suffering, to release yourself.
But that’s letting them win.
So you live on, crying yourself to sleep, sometimes alone, sometimes wrapped in your mother’s embrace.
But you live,
Everyday you’ll ask yourself ‘can I go on?’ and ‘how much longer do I have to suffer’
These unanswered questions will be the reason you continue on.
But you’ll emerge so much stronger,
And you’ll be glad you lived.
Take it from me,
Someone who knows