This is the worst moment of your life. Within six months, your father left, the pandemic handed you jobless, and now you’re homeless after the fire and your fiancé left because of the stress. At this moment, you’re in your pajamas since that is all you escaped the flames in. I know you’re sorting through donated clothes in your piss-stained hotel room, trying to find something to wear to the gas station down the street. You’ve likely never felt so empty; expect a hard recovery. However, the promising news is that not only do you recover, but you also flourish. Su su.

First, I must bear the sad but semi-sweet news that you still do not talk to your father, or rather, he does not talk to you. Despite his continued public disapproval of you, you’ve found inner peace. Your life is not sinful, Katie, nor are you selfish. This has been a tense buildup no matter how well you performed; you could never be his perfect daughter. Now, you choose to surround yourself with so many loving people that his absence no longer bothers you, which sounds surreal, I’m sure. Su su.

Second, you’ll end up meeting a man here pretty soon, and boy, is he a piece of shit, but trust me on this. It will be stressful, and many tears shed, but even now, you hold no resentment as it matured you and increased your passions and rectified your morals. He’ll help you meet your husband; again, trust the process. Su su.

You also work in bridal now which you love and yes, it is almost identical to “Say Yes to the Dress” and you’re doing it in Los Angeles! Hundreds of gorgeous gowns surround you in your beautiful boutique, some are your own designs. Your apartment in LA is in a beautiful cozy spot, nothing too grand but better than the basement unit you were used to living in. Su su.

Oh, how could I forget! I almost did not mention, but you are now a professional actress and singer. Yes, your lifelong dream became fulfilled after you moved to the city for more opportunities. You started off modeling, which got your connections and headshots. Soon, you met your amazing voice coach, who helped you gain even more opportunities, and she helped guide you up to a more successful career. You also won an Emmy last year, big congratulations! Your award, from the PSWC (not nationals), is beside me as I type this. You just finished your role as Sandy in “Grease” and received three standing ovations. You possess brilliant talent, so please, do not stop singing and performing. Su su.

This life we live is great. We did not obtain the material sense of luxury, but what we have is more than priceless to us. Your life’s incredible sense of peace, considering all we’ve been through, is overwhelming to write about. You are very young, yet incredibly strong, and I just want to thank you for laying the foundation of who I now am. You are resilient, compassionate, kind, and deserving of unconditional love. I hope these words can provide some comfort to you as you rest, and trust me, there will be a reaping of what you have sowed. Su su.

(Style score: 100 percent)

Lil’ Lesa,

I found you in the cereal aisle. Curled up behind the forbidden—behind the Cheerios, the Frosted Flakes, the Fruit Loops. You had folded yourself into a ball. Only when I moved the cereal did I notice how tiny your body was, how fragmented. Your beating heart hurt, and your soft green eyes were half-mad.

You see me now—ten million miles from the promises we once made—and you think I’ve left you, too. That I’ve forgotten. Forgotten all the things that meant something. You think because I left those promises behind, I’ve become just like them. The inconsistent-parental figures who figured you were better off on the cereal shelf.

But you’d been hiding in that space long before the hurt. Before papa’s drunk-crazed eyes. You were so afraid he’d see you there—thumb in your mouth—and take, shake, rattle all the bones, spitting spattered matter into your face. His drunken-belted fist. It welted, swelled, and stayed. Then he’d make a scene, throwing cereal boxes and other things, saying, “Look what you made me do. Be appreciative that I threw that, tore that, made those—by doing that, I saved you!”

We ignored the lines he crossed—the promises, the relapses, the abuse. Until we couldn’t anymore. Now, I’m silent. I can’t bring myself to speak to him. I try not to care that he can’t move his body along the mountain line or fix the rusted ’67 Pontiac transmission. He crossed too many lines.

As a child, we learned not to move. Movement meant being seen. Stillness meant being forgotten. Momma taught us forgetting. She’d leave you there—not always on purpose, but always forgetting. Forgetting her promises to come back. We are still there, Lesa. Still afraid of being left in places we can’t leave.

When we became mothers, we feared losing our own children. We gripped their hands too tightly, tracked their steps, packed fear into their bodies, and marched them into a fictional battle. And now we watch their genes push them to run. I see it in them—the restlessness, the resistance. The echo of everything we never unlearned.

Underneath it all, we are still the scared child beneath the stairs, behind the book, under the floorboards. I tried to move my little self beyond the scared look. But you go running every time something is hard. Something frightens you, and you run. You used to pull my hand and wonder why my feet turned to concrete.

You said people like us don’t wait to see—we know what’s around the corner. We know that certain footfall. We can’t let them see us cry, never let them see us weep, because they use it as fuel for why they can rain more and take more. And I try to tell you: this time, it’s our children. And with them, they’ve taken my heart, my belief, my hope, my future, my happiness—and all my feelings have run off with them. But this time, I want to see. I don’t want to run.

And you used to pull my hand harder. “Don’t stay,” you said. “It only hurts more.”

But I want to stay. I want to believe this time is different. You don’t trust that, and I get it. I do. But I want you to know—this time, I’m not running.

You had moved an impenetrable part of me—one I forced into silence years ago. You were a figment of my reality, a small inconsequential entity sitting on a cereal shelf. I silenced you, convinced you didn’t matter.

But when I saw you there—thumb in your mouth—it reminded me of all our possibilities. I thought, maybe. Maybe I could love you whole. But you were the product of years and years of parental rejection. There is no easy replacement for that kind of ache.

Still, I kept going. On the cusp of something good—when hope flickered and love started to root—you quieted inside me. Part of you was proud. Proud of the life we’ve built. The stability. The safety. The strength. And yet, part of you was heartbroken. That in protecting our children, we taught them fear.

The doctors called it a blessing when they removed you from me. Said you must have had a defect. But I lost half of myself. There became two versions of me—one still laying silent on the operating table, holding onto you. The other, still sitting on the cereal shelf.

But listen closely, Lil’ Lesa.

You should be proud of me.

We never got everything right. But we broke cycles. We loved better. We’re still learning. Still showing up. And I’m not leaving you behind anymore.

I’m here. Still holding your hand—

Me
Prostyle score: 91

You still carry the moon on your back.
Do you remember?

That crescent—delicate, deliberate, inked into your left shoulderblade when you were still trying to believe in softness. People probably still assume it was for the aesthetic. For the symmetry. For the romance of the night. But no.

We got it because we didn’t feel whole.
We etched it there because something in us was always waxing, never quite arriving.
We needed proof that becoming could be permanent.

I wonder if it’s faded now. If time has thinned its edges, made the ink blur like memory. Or if someone has ever pressed their lips to it, slow and reverent—kissed it like a poem, breathed against it like scripture. If their lips lingered there not for beauty, but for belief.

I wonder if you’ve forgotten how we used to stand before the mirror, tracing that crescent like it was a spell—like if we followed its curve with steady fingers, we might summon the parts of us we hadn’t yet grown into. That little sliver of moon was the first thing we ever claimed when everything else—our voice, our wants, our right to take up space—still felt like someone else’s permission to give.

Do you remember the words we used to whisper like a secret between ribs, like a prayer we were afraid wouldn’t be answered?

“Don’t let this be all I am.”

We wrote it everywhere—in the margins of notebooks, within late-night drafts, between sighs we never let anyone hear. We moved through the world like half-drawn maps, ink bleeding at the corners, hoping someone might take the time to chart us. To name the mountains we carried, to find the oceans we kept quiet.
I kept thinking wholeness was waiting on the other side of becoming—after the right city, the right love, the right version of our body, or our laugh, or our name.

But you—you live in the after.
So tell me: what did wholeness turn out to be?

Was it loud, or did it hum beneath your skin like a lullaby?
Did it arrive like a thunderclap, or slip in quietly, like morning light across bare feet?
Did it demand your attention—or did it just… wait for you to notice?
Do you still chase things too hard?
Do you still replay moments in your head until the words feel holy?
Do you still ask the mirror if you’re enough?

I hope not.
I hope you ask for everything now—clearly, unafraid.
I hope you sleep like you deserve to be rested.
I hope you speak like the world was made to listen to your voice.
I hope your reflection greets you like a soulmate.

I wonder who you became when no one else was looking.
I wonder if you ever danced wildly and forgot to be self-conscious.
If the moon on your back finally made sense—not because it made you whole, but because you stopped needing to be.

And if you’re reading this—then I kept going.
Somewhere beneath your ribs, I’m still curled up and watching.
Still hoping. Still cheering you on. Still trying to become the kind of woman who makes the stars look twice.

Ink doesn’t lie.
That crescent?
She’s still mine. And now she’s yours.

With love,
Your old, half-lit self.

Style Score: 79%

Dear Younger me,
You don’t know it yet but you love life! You’re happy and healthy and living it to its fullest. Between concerts and music festivals you’re always doing something. And believe it or not, you’re not on any medications anymore! You took yourself off and never looked back. The thought of hurting yourself hasn’t even crossed your mind in I don’t even know how many months. I know life is scary and you’re so unsure right now, but please keep going. You’re going to be so happy you did.

Do you remember our first funeral?
How terror, unnatural poise, and a light blue dress
bound our fragmented shards
so tightly that they fused like plates of armor,
unyielding and permanent—
a mold to shape past, present, and future experiences?
Ones devoid of the therapeutic scent of lavender?
Yeah, me too.
And we still seek the warm hug of purple blossoms
underneath a smiling summer sun,
taunting us from breezes that cannot touch our skin,
and the reassurance in the face of overwhelming loss and upheaval
that we will be okay because we are loved.
And we are. Loved. Okay.
Despite being an unrecognizable lump of tarnished metal
electroplated and reforged too many times to count,
bits of funerary fabric adding a mosaic of color to the gray,
we are strong and beautiful like Vermont wildflowers—
a sea of scents swaying among long, emerald grasses,
infusing the wind that rushes from now to then
with a healing perfume that will cease to exist after we are gone
and leave him in a molten suit gasping for air.

Style Score: 100

I remember how you wore that jacket
like a shield—
not for the cold,
but to disappear,
to quiet the noise,
to hide the pain no one asked about.

You were surviving
in a world that wanted you silent,
still,
small.
They told you
what you couldn’t do,
couldn’t be—
as if your worth could be measured
by their narrow lines.

But you kept going.
You stumbled,
you screamed into pillows,
you questioned everything—
and still,
you built something out of the pieces
they tried to break.

I see you now—
no longer shrinking.
You wear what you want.
You say what they never let you say.
You’ve become someone
the old you couldn’t yet imagine.

If I could speak to you,
I wouldn’t offer hope like a promise.
I’d say this:

You’re not broken.
You’re not wrong.
You are real.
And you made it—not because of them.
In spite of them.

As I stare into the mirror brushing my teeth,
I think of the little girl I once was.

As I watch my reflection brush her long thick blonde hair,
I think of the little girl who would fight her mom to sit still to get her long thick blonde hair brushed.

As I stare into the mirror while putting on my makeup,
I think of the young girl I once was.
The young girl that was so self cautious with her skin.
With her blue eyes.
With her dimples when smiling.

As I stare into the mirror scanning my reflection staring back at me,
I think of the little girl I once was and wonder if she’d be proud of me today?

I’d like to think that little girl I once was would laugh and tell me these beautiful things:

Remember when our long thick blonde hair would be the less of our worries?

Remember when we’d get Kool-aid stains on our upper lip and laugh about it till our tummy hurt?

Remember all of those times of letting the wind blow our long thick blonde hair like Pocahontas standing on that cliff?
That was so refreshing, especially during the summer.

Remember all those times we’d watch grandma put on her makeup?
Look at her reflection with a big smile on her face.
Those were our reminders to never let our love for ourselves go unnoticed.
It was our reminder to never look at our reflection with such self doubt but with such grace & love.

Writing Score 100%

Dear Mairi,

I don’t know where exactly you are in your life – whether you still live with your parents, what school you’re graduating from, or if you’re drifting in an endless sea of uncertainty between jobs. You’ve likely got your sights on building a future for yourself and all that you’re going to fill in on that wide canvas – or maybe you’re curious about the people you’ll meet and the experiences you’ll have, and how they’ll help shape you into who you’re becoming. That said, I want to pass along some things for you to absorb as you step forward into the great unknown.

Don’t hold yourself back in the things that you do, no matter how uncomfortable it seems to step outside the box. Write those poems, however corny they are at first. Try different fighting styles, because that’s how you learn to improve your craft in the ring. I mean, yeah, you’ve got a natural talent for a lot of things, and whatever comes as easy and natural as breathing to you easily baffles dozens of others. But talent is only one part of the process – keep developing your skills further so that you’re not just getting by in what you do.

Let go of any hard set beliefs of the way things should be from your mind and get as comfortable with the ebb and flow of life as you can. Life rarely pans out the way we originally planned. You’ll lose jobs, experiences you thought would turn out one way won’t always manifest said way, and you’ll doubt yourself and your place in the world quite a few times. But, as the saying goes, “When God closes a door, He opens a window.” Sometimes, what may seem like a setback is really directing you to where you need to go, and you just have to be open to receiving it.

Nurture the real relationships you have in your life. People come and go in your life more frequently than you might think, even those you love or think will be with you for a lifetime. You may worry about turning 30, for instance, when some won’t live that long to help you celebrate – a few not making it to 30 themselves. Spend more time with them and learn more about who they are, the world or yourself in the process. If or when they split from your life path, you’ll be able to look back and cherish that time with them.

Love yourself, and be kinder to yourself. For one, it’s absolutely frustrating to see others hit milestones that you thought would be a given for you, no matter how old you are. Additionally, there’s going to be times where you screw up, and sometimes massively. Learn to cope with that unease, take accountability for what you do and learn from that, and remember that you’re only human with your own time frame. Keep telling yourself that ad infinitum if you must.

Nothing in life is permanent. Savor the time that you have and all the people and things that occupy its space. Because, even if they’re still there (they’re and there, God how I love the English language) after some years, they inevitably change, and so do you. Dance life’s messy waltz and make the most out of what’s left, regardless of the next step.

Sincerely,

You in 10-20ish years

P.S.: Use sunscreen, like everyday. Trust me on this.

To me,
Do you remember the trips we would take to Steamboat Springs every year to see the hot air balloons? Do you remember the smiles on everyone’s faces?
Do you remember how we used to dream of going to college and being an architect?
Do you remember the social struggles we went through—trying to be accepted by people who couldn’t appreciate how different and beautiful we are?
Do you remember the feeling when we left for the military? How it felt knowing we wouldn’t be moving back home?
If you remember all this, then you also remember that first kiss we shared with the love of our life in New Orleans—dancing in the street to the violinist’s hypnotic music.
Then we said ‘I do’, in the town we call our home, and I was blessed to be called step-mom.
Then we welcomed a beautiful baby into this chaotic thing we call life, and he looks just like us.
I know we’ve struggled a lot with anxiety and depression, but I don’t want you to remember that. I want to remember the happy moments with the family and the people we love most in this world.
I hope that looking back, we remember the goals we set and the goals we accomplished. The love we gave, and the love returned. The smiles we put on others’ faces and the smiles others’ put on our face.
I want to remember the happiest moments…
But I can’t forget the struggles, the heartbreaks, and the failures.
The struggles strengthened us; the heartbreaks made us more resilient; and the failures made us continue to persevere.
We are who we are because of the challenges we faced and fought to overcome.
You should be proud of who you are today… I should know! I know you’re always so hard on yourself, filled with self-doubt and apprehension.
You are a strong woman, wife, mother, step-mother, daughter, sister, friend.
I just hope that when I finally get to read this letter in the future, I’ll be proud of myself without doubt, and I’ll be proud of the life I lived.
From,
me
Style score: 100%

Little girl,

Don’t put those glass slippers on your feet. They don’t fit. They don’t belong. I know how much you long to be a damsel in distress, like those girls in cupcake dresses whose lives are always a mess until their prince seals their fate with pretty words and a kiss. Don’t envy those girls trapped in the TV screen. They don’t exist. Don’t put those glass slippers on your feet. They will break and cut your skin. This is the start of a long journey, and your path calls for hiking shoes.

Little girl, you have so many thoughts. They bounce around inside your skull like ping-pong balls. Take off your shoes, just for a moment. Press your feet into the soil. Inhale. Exhale. I will teach you how to ground yourself.

Put your shoes on. Do not be timid. Where we’re going, “shy” does not exist. You are not shy. You are brilliant and audacious and someone—something—has stolen your voice. Raise your hand and speak before someone speaks for you. You don’t have time to lose yourself.

Little girl, feel your emotions and feel them fully. Don’t bottle them up. If something rattles you, they will sizzle and foam until you explode. If you feel weary, find a patch of soft grass. Sprawl out and cry. Tear the grass up with your hands. I want to see dirt under your nails. Kick the air like it hurt you and twist and writhe till your body goes limp. Where we’re going, big girls must learn to cry.

If on this journey you see a flower you like, don’t just walk past it. Stop and admire it. Tuck it into your pocket. Pluck the petals and drop them on the ground like fairy dust. Or share the flower with someone you love. This is a rocky, barren path. You must be gracious. If the earth offers you a gift for your troubles, bow your head to the ground and thank it.

Little girl, I know you’re aching to see the end of this path. Walk slower now. This is not a journey to be completed, this is a journey to be enjoyed. Because once it ends, this path will disappear and you will never find your way back. I beg you to gather every flower you find and make bouquets out of them. Use your voice, raise it. Louder. Feel the grass. Feel every bruised knee and broken heart and warm embrace. Because one day this path will end, and there will be no trace.

Little girl, put on your hiking shoes.

Style Score: 100%

Dear Past Me,

Look at you—trying so hard, carrying so much. I see you. I know how heavy it’s been. But I need you to know something: you don’t have to stay here.
You’ve already taken the first step toward change, and that alone is something to be proud of. Now, it’s time to let go, unlearn, and grow.
I know—it’s easier said than done. But aren’t you worth it? Aren’t you tired of feeling stuck, trapped in the same cycle, falling back into bad habits shaped by TV, music, and the world around you? And it’s not just that. Think about the habits you absorbed from your family—the ones you didn’t even realize were shaping you until you got older.
But here’s the truth: you don’t have to carry that anymore. Let go of the hurt. Let go of the regrets. Let go of the belief that you always have to be perfect. Take accountability for your life, but also give yourself grace. Do the work, not because you have to, but because you deserve to be free.
Get back to the things that bring you joy—singing, dancing, moving your body, and breathing deeply. Let your inner child run free—she’s been waiting for you. And if anyone is watching? Let them. She deserves to be seen. You deserve to be seen.
Be present. No more letting intrusive thoughts steal your joy—the day, the hour, the minute, the second. You’ve lost too much time to them already. A small inconvenience does not have the power to ruin your day unless you give it permission. Choose peace. Choose happiness. Choose yourself. But most of all, choose God—because He has already chosen you. When the weight feels too heavy, remember you don’t carry it alone. He is with you, guiding every step.
If you can’t control it, let it go. Give it to God. Release it. Lighten your load. You deserve to feel free. Your fiancé, kids, friends, family, and even that no-good job will benefit from a happier, lighter version of you. But the one who will benefit the most? You.
You only have one life to live, and God has already written a beautiful story for you. Don’t let fear or doubt keep you from stepping into it. Trust in His timing, His plan, and His love. There’s still so much left in you—especially when you get back to doing what makes you feel alive. Don’t wait until it’s too late, looking back at a life filled with “would’ve,” “should’ve,” and “could’ve.” You already have a few—you don’t need more.
So start today. Slight changes, big impact.
You don’t have to have it all figured out—just take the first step, trust God, and trust yourself. He already knows the path ahead. Surrender it all to Him, and the rest will follow.
Now is your time. You’re ready. Step into the life you were meant to live.

I love you.

Style Score86%

It’s been ten years,
Yet we still pretend.

We hold a smile,
When it’s asked for.

We do as we’re told,
Even though we hate it.

And everywhere we go,
It’s all the same.

Everywhere, we go,
It’s the same.

It’s been ten years.
We’re still pretending.

To the Girl Who Still Had to Learn to Be Free,

I see you—curled small, a whisper in a crowded room, a ghost in your own life. You fold yourself into corners, silent, unseen, hoping the world will pass without asking too much of you. I see the weight of your silence, the way it presses into your ribs, how you carry it like armor, mistaking it for safety. But silence is not a shield—it is a cage. And, my love, you were never meant to live caged.

You were taught that smallness is survival, that bending keeps you from breaking, that love is something earned in quiet obedience. But love should not feel like holding your breath. Love should not be bought with suffering.

I wish I could tell you that the road ahead is smooth, that you will wake up one morning and simply feel free. But healing is not a straight path—it is winding, tangled, a forest of echoes and shadows. Some nights, fear will creep in like fog, curling around your ankles, whispering that you are not enough, that you never were. But I promise you, fear is a liar. And you are not made of whispers—you are made of storms.

There will be days when old ghosts knock at your door. Days when your body remembers before your mind does—when hands from the past still linger on your skin, when voices once cruel still hum in your ears. These days will be hard. You will wonder if you are doomed to carry them forever. But hear me:
You are not their hands.
You are not their words.
You are not the things they did to you.
You are something far, far greater.

There will be a morning when you wake, and for the first time in years, the air does not feel heavy. A moment when laughter escapes your lips and does not feel borrowed. A day when you catch your reflection and do not see damage, but resilience—when you see not a survivor, but a warrior, a creator, a force. You will come to know that healing does not mean forgetting, nor does it mean erasing the past. Healing is learning to live despite it, to grow around the scars, to bloom in the ruins, wild and untamed.

I wish you could see us now. Standing tall, laughing loud, wearing colours that once felt too bold, speaking truths that once felt too dangerous. I have found joy, not because the world became gentler, but because I did. Because I learned that the softness I once feared was not weakness, but power.

You will unlearn the shame they fed you. You will stop seeing yourself through the eyes of those who broke you and start seeing yourself through the eyes of the one who healed you. And that one, my love, is you.

One day, you will stand in a room full of people, and your voice will not shake. You will speak, and they will listen—not because you have finally become enough for them, but because you have finally realized you were always enough for yourself.

And when the past comes knocking, as it sometimes will, you will no longer answer. You will no longer open the door. You will not let old wounds write your future.

One day, you will write this letter—not as a plea, not as a promise, but as a testament. A declaration that you have returned to yourself. That you have come home, at last.

With love you always deserved,
From the Me Who Finally Knows

ProWritingAid Style Score: 80%

A letter to my childhood:
You are so lucky.
You’re smarter than even you know.
You are so loved. 
Hug your parents more.
Hug your grandparents more.
Hug everyone you love more. 
Don’t take family for granted; you’ll miss them when they go.
Know that you are safe, even when the words don’t always make you feel that way.
Read everything; it makes you happy.
Never stop learning.
Don’t let mom cut your hair…

A letter to my teens:
You don’t have to look like everyone else; embrace your individuality.
You shouldn’t cry just because you have a healthy human body.
Love yourself, especially when it feels like no one else will. 
Your voice matters, so keep writing; use it to get everything out.
Someday someone will want to hear it.
Keep reading; it still makes you happy.
Cherish your childishness; hold it close for as long as you can.
Don’t date the bad boy; even when he’s better, he still won’t be good for you. 
I know it’s not just a phase, but sometimes it is.
And didn’t we already say don’t let mom cut your hair?

A letter to my 20s:
Your body will never be the same; the accident made sure of that.
But remember we said not to cry about being in a healthy human body 
Why did you stop reading if it made you happy?
It’s okay to like things he doesn’t; you don’t have to force yourself to fit him.
Complacency is not contentment, and contentment is not joy.
You are not stuck.
You owe nothing to anyone.
Letting go isn’t failure or weakness or selfishness.
You don’t have to go back to something that doesn’t work just to make sure it still doesn’t work.
And isn’t there anyone you can trust with your hair?!

A letter to my 30s:
Alcohol doesn’t make things fun after you wake up sober.
Being single is hard, but dating is harder.
You are not cut out for online dating.
Passion can be fleeting, but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it.
Remember, though, that butterflies are actually anxiety. 
Excuses are not attractive.
Young is dumb, and dumb is dangerous.
Looking is not liking, and it most certainly is not love.
You still shouldn’t date the bad boy. 
You already know how to let go. 
You’re an adult, and it’s time to figure out how to be one on your own.
And, no, there’s no one you can trust with your hair.

A letter to this past year:
Therapy works.
Just because your anxiety was right before doesn’t mean it always is.
Peace is paradise, not boredom. 
Stillness and solitude are the sacred foundations for your creativity.
Travel is more than just a temporary escape from life.
You are a professional, and you deserve to take up qualified space.
You can write.
You can share.
You can be part of a safe community.
You can learn to build a better life outside of what you’ve always known.
Live at your own pace.
Move your body in ways that make you smile.
Enjoy your food, and let it nourish you, too.
Learn to trust and love again; he’s worth it.
And bless all that is holy because we finally found someone who knows what to do with your hair!

A letter to the future:
Progress isn’t linear. 
You’re still lucky.
You’re still loved.
You’re still smarter than you know.
You’re never stuck.
Love others hard.
Love yourself harder.
Love the life you intentionally create.
It’s always okay to explore new ways.
It’s always okay to have a voice.
It’s always okay to let go.
Keep reading.
Keep writing.
Keep sharing.
Keep learning. 
And someday you’ll finally figure out how to do your own hair.

(100% Style Score)

If I Warned Me
If I warn of heartbreak
What risks will I take?
If I warn of vulnerability,
I’ll then conceal what others see.
If I warn of uncertainty,
Will I, too timid, ever be?
I’ll choose to live in mystery
Betwixt the fiery sparks that flee
In the rhythm of life’s spontaneity
Sans warnings from the likes of me

100%

Dear New & Improved Me,

As I take a moment to reflect on our journey, I feel compelled to share my thoughts and wisdom from the version of me that once was. Though I may feel distant, I am very much a part of who you are today.

First, let me commend you. You’ve shown remarkable courage in shedding self-doubt and the weight of others’ expectations. I remember when we hesitated to speak our truth, fearing disappointment. But look at you now embracing authenticity and pursuing passions that once seemed unreachable! Nurture that brave spirit; it’s one of your greatest treasures.

Remember the importance of self-compassion. We were our harshest critics, plagued by negative thoughts like storm clouds. But you’ve learned to transform those inner dialogues into supportive conversations. Keep that up! When you stumble, treat yourself with the kindness you would offer a dear friend. You deserve that love.

Don’t forget the power of connection. I see how you’ve built a network of friends and mentors who uplift and inspire you. Cherish these relationships as they are mirrors reflecting your growth. Continue to nurture these connections as they will guide you through life’s inevitable challenges.

Embrace your fears, new me. Don’t shy away from them. They are not your enemies but signposts pointing you toward growth. Each time you step outside your comfort zone, you expand your possibilities. Remember that exhilarating moment when you conquered a fear? Keep chasing those feelings!

Stay curious! The old me often felt stagnant and trapped in routines and cycles. Now, I see you seeking new experiences and learning with an open heart. This curiosity fuels your creativity and keeps your spirit vibrant. Never let that flame dim; explore new interests, read voraciously, and embrace the unknown.

Lastly, remain grounded in gratitude. It’s easy to get swept away in the pursuit of more and forget the gifts of the present. Reflect daily on what you appreciate, no matter how small. This practice will anchor you through storms and remind you of the beauty that surrounds you.

As you move forward, know it’s okay to evolve. The journey may twist and turn, and uncertainty will arise. Trust your ability to navigate life’s complexities you possess an inner strength that can weather any storm!

In closing, I want you to know how proud I am of you. You are a testament to growth, resilience, and the power of self-love. Carry the lessons of the past but don’t let them define you. The future is bright, and I can’t wait to see how you continue to shine.

With all my love,
Your old self

My dear,

You had everything figured out. Or rather, in your time, you have everything figured out. I mustn’t envy you for it. I made my decision now. I made my decision proud – to be who I want to be with little to no direction. A poet with spare change. It’s not enough to buy a coffee, but my tongue flickers at the thought of this manifestation.
Darling, you scrape every corner for change to buy your cat some food and yourself a can of spaghetti. You pour yourself a glass of wine and give thanks for what you have. You can make and buy yourself a coffee, and you’re holding down a corporate 9-5. Nothing is uncertain for you. Nothing but your relationships is uncertain for you. Nothing but your next meal may seem uncertain for you, but you know you’ll head to the corner store tomorrow for a snack or two.
I can be nothing but proud of you. I am proud of your growth, and I know that you are, too. You say it almost every day. You should be most proud to say that you will not move on without grace. Before you leave this apartment, you’ll thank every corner of it for your stay. Then, you’ll move on to another and create memories that you didn’t expect to create.
Darling, this time especially is uncertain. I almost wish I could warn you of it. Our corporate 9-5 is no longer ours. Honestly, it never was. The life that we are manifesting is creating destruction. Yes, this time is uncertain. Ironically, it brings happiness and rebellion, and with this you are creating abundance without knowing. At least, that’s what you’re being told.
Messages are delivered to you through symbolism. Although confusing, your intuition translates the message for you. It says, “ This change is more intimidating than the first, but this incoming blessing will show you what it’s worth.”

Lovingly,
Your Future Self

59% Style Score

Lately I have been practicing meditation, Namaste

The new me wants to take over the stubborn old me is like no Ima stay

It is a constant battle of will, will I or won’t I change

The new way of thinking and doing things still has me afraid

But the old way of doing things would always be a destructive path

I wanted a way out, and I found it finally

Well, I am not there yet. It is an ongoing thing.

Never was i expressive emotional. I would let things spill over.

Bottling up feelings of anger, resentment and not allowing anyone to

Not even me, even with a key I would deny entry

I need to heal

I needed to feel but for the longest I was numb to it all

Now I feel it all. I am working on the challenge of balance

I am proud of who I was and who I am now because even at my worst,

I still knew ill be here somehow

Not allowing the past to define me, but more so to inspire me

Showing me who I should and should not be

I saw the spot of hope even in my darkest times

With support from my family telling me everything is going to be fine

Loving the inner child in me and telling him it’s going to be alright

I love you, Isaac

I love myself too

How can an old me exist in the past?
Or does this prompt require me to fast
Forward
A message in a bottle from my sequel
Versions of “I” and “me” deemed unequal
Jagged glass, tossed about the sea, deemed polished
An unavoidable trajectory praised or admonished
Am I ever new, if perpetually used?
If the old us is younger, are we not confused?
Bemused
The past and future writing in the present tense.
Therefore I choose, to write from the end. Stanzas stacked, likely not to comprehend
(Lest you choose to read from the end to here. Or both, for you have free will, my dear)

Your dear friend
The older, new me, most sincere
I’m typing it early, for this hemisphere
I hope this doesn’t reach you too late
The last we spoke, “is not” wasn’t “ain’t”
Do you still like to paint?
An emotional state of inclusivity
Your interpersonal, personality
An ephemeral state of relativity
Will be
The small that you were, and you are, and
Or plummeting down hill
From slowly ascending
Glad to see you still find a thrill
Lie
Yet the imagery of a heart, is a symmetrical
The muscular breakdown of a thigh
Similarly, the tension of a bicep
Our chest
Inside
How strange to know what a heart looks like
Stare
You’ve observed, despite being told not to tear
You’ve stretched knowing that you could
Omnipotence
Accepting a life in pursuit of infinite
Ignorance
My how you’ve found bliss, devoid of
Good evening, self