A question for my future self:
Am I happy?
Do I have insurmountable wealth?
A concern from my past self:
Do I still use my body to show the boys I’m pretty?
Is my potential for the future just collecting dust on a shelf?
I wrote a letter in seventh grade to my tenth grade self
I asked, blatantly, “pourquoi est-ce que to habites?”
That means “why do you live?”
And I sat and wondered while reading that in twelfth grade:
“What can I possibly give? Five years ago I didn’t know why I live and still I falter with the thought.”
I’ve been told time and time again that I’m wasting what I have
Not my materials or rights
My ability to stab through the thickest situations and rise to the top
I’ve been told that my potential has been wasted
I’m worried that me right now will be the same in ten years as though it has just been copied and pasted
Life goes on in a conveyor belt fashion
You step off when you get where you need to go
But some of us stand still and go in the same circle never taking action or developing a passion to get from point A to point B
I fear I may never step off my conveyor
It’s hard to see the world objectively when clearly everything is subjective
I’m conveying to you, future self, that I think your belt is broken and you’re stuck in one place
You physically stand still
While your mind wanders space
And you think you’re advancing and in life moving forward
But you’re stationary and you can’t see it now, but take my word for it
I want you to open your eyes and see past your useless tears
You’ve had all the time in the world to make changes, you’ve had so many years!
So why is it that you have yet to adjust the system?
Future self, are you listening? Get off the conveyor and start walking, because no one is there to fix them!
Don’t expect help from anyone in your circle
They stick around for a little but are ultimately a hurdle
There is no one to trust but you, future friend
If you need to reach out to anyone
Ask yourself, a hand I’m sure you’ll lend
I doubt you want to see yourself fail
You might as well then get your coffin and count each nail
Because everything in life is different in perspective
Can you see now that you somewhat feel respected?
I worry about you more than I should
But I worry just enough
To the point where it’s good
Hey, can we strike a deal, future me?
Give it four years
And if by then you can’t see,
Then the world doesn’t need you and you’re better off alone,
But if you see what I mean then enjoy your new home
Your body is the dwelling that you seek shelter in
I hope that day comes when you love your own skin
When your eyes shimmer with glee at the sight of your image
Not at all like Narcissus, but you understand the little pilgrimage I’m talking about
So one last comment to you, my soon to be friend
Always trust yourself and your judgement, don’t bend
Don’t let others walk over you like a doormat
Command your presence like a homerun swinging bat
Silence the room when you walk in to speak
Understand your self worth and the benefits, you’ll reap
I’m happy to have the pleasure of meeting you one day
I’ll likely be nervous and not know what to say
Because for how powerful and wonderful and mystifying you’ll be
God I hope one day what I want to see will be me

Don’t move.
Lie very still.
Will that make this not real

Heavy
My heart, the blankets
Hold me down, hold me down

Keep in your screams.
They won’t do anything here
Not to capture this, the fear

Close your eyes.
Don’t let in any excess stimuli.
The head games won’t work this time

Unconscious
The only state I’m free
From earth, from me, from misery

Don’t wake up.
Please
Don’t wake up.