A letter to 12 year old me.

may24-2017w-7797

Dear Twelve,

I’ve not forgotten you, do not worry.

I remember that day you chose to wear that t-shirt. You know— the one with the giant head of a pig on the front, wearing a straw hat and chewing on a strand of hay.

You wore it without thinking anything of it. You liked it. You liked the way it fell just past your bottom. It was comfortable. And it fit just right.

But you didn’t like that comment. This age can be so tough, dear Twelve. I know you know that. And I know you remember those words, because they’re burned into your memory— the memory that we share.

Thirteen didn’t forget it either, nor Fourteen, Fifteen, and Sixteen definitely didn’t. Sixteen couldn’t handle it. She let it break her.

Can you blame it all on that one comment? Of course not. I know it was a combination of things. A mix of words, actions, looks, and events. But this one comment is an example that certain memories can stick with you, and can have a huge effect on your life…if you let them.

Those words were something like, hey Jennifer, you wore yourself on your shirt today. Followed by a chuckle.

Lovely.

Now, Twelve, I know I didn’t have to remind you of those seemingly simple words. You remember them well. In fact you laughed along with them. You kept yourself safe with the shield of your laughter. But behind the shield, another little piece of your self esteem crumbled.

I need to remind you that they are only words. And the person who said them had no intention for you to hold them close for years.

You are more than the negative thoughts and words of others. Let yourself shine. Let yourself be you. You are beautiful, not based on others. You are beautiful because of your heart, and the beauty you see in everything. Take care of you, Twelve, and everything else will fall into place.

rescue

My head, in a painful fog.

My heart, in an aching war.

Alone, out in the darkness.

This blade within my core

is severing all my joy.

It’s strange to know that I

am my own assailant.

Every twist of this blade

that made me feel vacant,

was initiated by me.

I’m unable to console

the emptiness within,

when I’ve lost all the control

and the will to start again.

If I am my own assailant,

can I be my own amazement?

My own rescue in disguise,

telling me to rise,

and combat all the lies

that I weave within my mind?

If we have the strength to be

our own cruel enemy,

then surely we are strong enough

to rescue and to rise above

the pain we put upon ourself,

replacing it with love.

-Jen Kessler

regarding emotions

Her emotions become chaotic,

She’d wish she was catatonic.

‘Cause the concealed pain

Revealed on this emotional train,

Is often far beyond her grasp.

Her control will never last.

Her eyes will bleed of tears,

Familiar through the years.

Her voice will spew of hate.

Words she can’t relate,

‘Cause she doesn’t mean them.

Here in this cycle once again,

Hauntings of her past

Confuse her present task

Of staying steady,

And emotionally ready

To give and to receive

The love she thought

Would always

Leave.

-Jen Kessler