to a younger me

Mon, 02/05/2018 - 14:05 -- ein001

To a younger me:

 

You’re questioning a lot of things

and that’s fine.

Don’t be afraid, and don’t let

anyone else talk you out of it.

Lifting up the veil over religion

is going to be like

lifting the cover from a dead body:

putrid and suffocating, but

keep going.

 

Questioning the status quo is

going to be like

putting hot coals on your tongue,

everyone staring at you and

wondering what went wrong

in your life

that you think your birth certificate is wrong

and that the world isn't gray enough; but

keep going.

 

Everything that's ever been black

is really just a shade

of very dark blue,

or navy,

or gray;

what they call the moral high ground is

just simply another place

the waters of uncertainty and reality have yet to reach.

They say blood is thicker than water,

but you will tear up temples,

rip out your fingernails

in your search for the truth

and in someone's defense,

and your blood will tie you

to your chosen people.

You will find that the people you think

are your family

never cared,

and that your friends

who everyone says

will leave you someday,

never will.

 

It's going to be hard. Don't pretend it isn't.

So go head and wave at the vultures

as they fly overhead, but

don't offer them any food, because

there is nothing for them here.

 

Say thank you to the invisible, and

say you're welcome to the people you hate.

We're all skeletons piloting flesh bags

on this dirt rock we call a planet, breaking

the record number of days

we successfully haven't offed our entire species.

No one is too low, and no one is too high.

 

Money and gender are the greatest lies of all:

social constructs, right after

the pretty sugar trap that is religion.

Keep your ears and eyes and heart open.

They're all people, with

flaws and dreams and mistakes,

just like you,

no matter the numbers that trail after them

like smoke.

 

It's going to be hard. You're going to look at

high places, yourself in the mirror,

the sun setting, a mirror-surface lake,

and you're going to stare into

the abyss.

But remember

to drink eight cups of water a day

and take long walks,

and pat the monster on the head as you pass.

 

Dysphoria and depression are going to be two screaming voices

in the back of your head,

and I'm sorry.

But they want you dead,

so weaponize kindness and

mount defenses with softness.

Scars are proof that you've survived.

 

Keep going.

No one else

is going to do it for you.

This poem is about: 
Me
My community
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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