Letter to Myself

To: Me, Age 3

 

You wild child, chocolate running down your

face and body.

Sugar rush in your eyes and only a diaper 

to reign you in.

Your smile, little one.

Do not let it fade.

You do not have to know the harshness of the future;

stay little.

“Little one” is what your Paw Paw will call you

until he takes his last breath

when you are twenty 

years old.

That term of sweet adoration will become sour to you

when your body is no longer

little.

Your pant size will increase along with your insecurities.

You will tell yourself you are not little, you are 

huge,

you are grossly juxtaposed

next to the word.

Little.

But let that word also be juxtaposed to 

your strength, your faith,

your ideas.

Little is not something that can describe the 

strength that is you deciding to 

eat again.

That is huge.

Little does not describe the faith that you will one day find 

that tells you you are beautiful as you are

as you were, as you will be.

That is huge. 

Little does not describe your ideas 

that are and always have been 

in your brain.

They are huge.

Huge isn’t the worst thing you could be.

Sometimes it's the best.

Be you, little one.

Love yourself. 

Be huge.

 

From: You, Age 21