Dear Twelve Year Old Me,
For God's sake.
Stop wearing those ******* butterfly pants.
And you wonder why no one wants to play tennis with you.
Dear Twelve Year Old Me,
If you think you hate math now,
wait til sophomore year.
That's when they stop giving you numbers altogether.
Dear Twelve Year Old Me,
I know you're crying in your bed
but it's OK
because the girl you kissed only gets prettier
and the ones you want to haven't come along yet.
Dear Twelve Year Old Me,
When you turn fifteen,
don't think twice about dressing like George Harrison
because dude was awesome and so are you.
Dear Fifteen Year Old Me,
I see you sneaking around the boy's half of Goodwill,
checking around corners to see if anyone's looking.
The night you held your hair hostage with scissors
and wondered how many inches you'd have to cut
until you felt valuable again,
I was the reflection in the mirror.
The nights you recited the first third of "Howl"
to comfort yourself
I was the quilt you pulled over your eyes.
Dear Twelve and Fifteen Year Old Me,
Stop punishing yourself for being something you didn't get to decide.
You're going to meet a girl in a coffee shop
with a whisper of a laugh
and a floppy woolen hat
who will make you realize
that love is when you want to say her name to everyone who passes you by
that love is when you search all the faces for hers
that love is when you decide danger in the open is more important than safety in a closet
that love is when you forgive yourself for something that was never bad to begin with.
Dear Twelve and Fifteen Year Old Me,
You're going to ***** things up
and miss opportunities
because that's what you did
but just know that seventeen year old you is trying to be fearless
so thank those who love you and forgive those who don't.
And really.
Enough with the pants.