A letter to my younger self

Just because a boy sees you without your clothes on doesn't mean he's seen you naked. If a boy says you’re beautiful without seeing you naked and just with your clothes off, it solely means he sees all your curves and wants to touch everywhere but your soul. He wants to get to know the warmth inside your body’s openings and not the warmth inside your heart and my dear that's something scary. Please don’t get confused with thinking that love and lust are equal. A boy who loves you will be able to see you naked without taking your clothes off, but a boy who lusts you will only imagine you without them on.

 

Your body is a garden, each part of you a flower. And everytime you let a different boy touch you he picks a flower, unless it is the right boy. The right boy helps you grow your garden, he helps plant new seeds, helps you flourish and blossom and grow. The right boy knows how to treat you, he is interested in the roots that run deeper rather than the beauty on top. It isn’t that he doesn’t appreciate your beauty, he just understands that a picked flower, although beautiful, will eventually die. Boys who pick your flowers don’t want to see your flaws, they take what they want, ignore what they don’t. They won’t tend to your weeds or water and nourish your roots, they will use you until your garden has no more flowers, and then they’ll leave. It may flatter you when boys pick your flowers, it gives you some sort of sense of love. But when your garden is empty, you’ll realize that they never loved you.

 

See, boys have the power to destroy you. Some boys make you feel like they’re your umbrella, when they are the reason for the rain. They make you feel like you are the reason for the clouds in the sky or the reason for the thunder. They tell you they are what make the sunny days and when the storm hits it is all your fault.

 

The thing is, I want you to live for you. I don’t want you to feel that a boy defines your importance. You are enough no matter what he says. Your body is a sacred place, even if it’s just your thighs or your wrists, it’s your body not his. Don’t use your fists to pound bruises into your skin, when he is the one making you feel like you’re nothing, you don’t want to create scars that remind you of him. Don’t allow yourself to think you no longer matter just because he rejects you, don’t think you need an umbrella to protect you, because the storm is only temporary. One day you’ll find the right boy, just hang on, and if you’re unsure then you haven’t found him yet. But he’s out there, I promise, because, now, I get to kiss him everyday.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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