Glorious failure; as I write this letter to my youth,
With always a fair share of bad news.
For try as you may,—
you still have a lot of yourself to prove.
Blaming yourself over all those who failed you,
at most— the ones who made it seem like you had
nothing better to do.
God, I know all of my sin; still for what’s left of a saint,
Would you by any chance let me in?
Spare a portion of change, to spend on the worth
of a name—as if I were feeding myself away
From any of indifference; by firstly starting
every prayer with grace.
Even when there’s a stone stuck in my throat;
Skipping over the waters of my soul.
I’m a cryptic message always, as whatever advice
you try to find in a cryptic poem.
Roaring, as an empty lion who lost his voice—
I’m instead rowing in an ocean of tears,
in place of not conquering my many fears.
And this is the part I’m supposed to
say something positive, as the charge of the
battery that powers my thoughts—
Though I’m not a leader of all of my words,
I do quote myself, to often misjudge my own worth
And not to find the right words to say;
to then break my jaw¬—and be as broken
as an empty wallet could ever relay.
Loved as an animal; for a dog faithful to a hand,
serves its barking remarks to be chasing its own tail
To one day come around, hoping to find change
still change comes with what I’m willing to spend,
And sacrifice; as the very old ways I held so much,
at hand.
My dearest younger self, there’s so much I wish
I could show you earlier on, that you need to let go of,
Especially the things you’ve kept hold of
In hopes of protecting it in an old glove.
Let go of the idea: that you’ll make everyone
so proud, the idea that every smile you see,
pictures what they hoped for
As even those you love, soon disappear in the crowd;
and the idea of trying to fit in, isn’t as easy
As trying to be everyone’s puzzle piece
For being yourself is the better fit, but the biggest risk
But I guarantee you will gain your biggest fill.
All I’m writing is, for both of our sakes
—stick to being Real!