to the me of five years ago

to the me of five years ago:

you hate your name.

I know you’d rather be named something like

“Lily”

something pretty and easy to pronounce

but if people can say “Tchaikovsky” or “Beethoven”

they can sure as hell say yours.

also,

that eyeshadow is not working for you, girl

you look like you’ve been punched in the face,

and everyone is too nice (or too cruel)

to tell you.

if you’re still worrying over the future,

then stop.

can’t say it gets much better, but

you survive.

you survive,

and that’s enough.

im going to be frank;

your drawings suck.

you will throw away all the sketchbooks

you currently hold so dear,

you will forsake your dreams

of going into graphic design,

of pursuing a career in art

but that’s okay.

because you will keep drawing,

you will keep drawing even if you become

an engineer,

a programmer,

or a doctor,

because you are an artist at heart.

you’re in love

with your violin,

and you believe that it’s

the most wondrous sound in the world,

but, oh,

love,

one day you will lay hands

on pallid ivory keys

and press,

and you will feel the weight of the world

under your fingertips,

feel it tremble in your soul

like a car crash in slow motion,

and it will be the only sound

that can lull you to sleep

on sleepless nights.

I almost forgot.

your “best friend?”

she doesn’t care about you.

her “just kidding’s”

when she spits venom at you

aren’t kiddings,

and you know this

leave her.

you must still be feeling

scared.

I remember

how they would make you

feel worthless.

I remember it

in their eyes

searing black holes

in your back,

but I would kill myself

before I’d let you be convinced

that you are not enough.

it is not your fault that the two people

you love most in your life

do not love eachother anymore,

and the sooner you accept that,

the sooner you will be happy

you need to be happy. 

don't let go

because you'll find god

in a book you read

on a whim,

and it will get better.

you will get better. 

so hang on until your nails

carve crescents on your palms.

(and I know I don't say this enough, 

but I am proud of you

for not giving up on us.)

I never actually hated you.

yours truly, 

future you