Dear unforgettable,

You there. Hunched in the dark, chewing your fingers like regrets, hoping no one sees how hollow you feel. I know you. I wore you.
I bled through your eyes for years. The shadow of shame draped over you like revelations in scripture. Confessing not your sins but your lofty ambitions that will never see the day.

Let me tell you something no applause ever could, or that your father would never say since those days where he abandoned you and live with another . You were enough. Even when you lied. Even when you begged. Even when you waited for her to text back, like her attention was oxygen and you were underwater. Like you thought your father’s love was the unconditional truth that cheating for you signal of love. You thought love would save you, didn’t you? That if you were beautiful enough, clever enough, talented enough— that they would see you, name you, complete you.

But they was never your mirror.
And their validation was never your soul. I remember the nights you’d write something brilliant, then delete it because the voice in your head—the one trained by rejection, not reason—told you no one would care.
I remember when “artist” felt like a lie you wore to impress strangers who didn’t matter. Or who didn’t care for your expression of self.

You thought pain was your muse.
You thought being broken made you deep.
You thought your sadness was a virtue. But listen, Your sadness was a cocoon, not a home. A cleansing to perfect your self soothing reality that expectations from others was your own self-esteem breaking from your universe.

You wanted proof you were real.
So you gave your body. You silenced your needs. You sacrificed yourself on altars that weren’t worthy of your talents.

But I’m here to say— You made it out. Not because someone saved you. But because you stopped waiting to be saved. Because one day, deep in that pit, you realized that no woman, no praise, no poem was going to hand you your worth.

You had to forge it. With trembling hands.
With no audience. With silence as your witness. You are not a reaction. You are not an echo. You are not what they think of you, or what she didn’t say back. You are a creator.
A builder of worlds from ash. A voice that sings even when no one listens.

So now—stand up. Not because the world asked you to. Not because she finally texted back or your father came home.
But because you are still here. And that is enough.

With love.
The You Who Remembers

How are you doing? I love being able to check in with you. I know this might sound dramatic or silly but make sure you keep doing things that make you happy and never be scared to talk to me. I’d never steer you wrong, atleast not intentionally.

I love the light in your eyes, so make sure to never lose that. Life will eventually throw some hectic things your way, but if you remember who you are and how to stay grounded, you will always be ok. Life is meant to be lived. Enjoy every moment you can. Be confident, because you are Angelically beautiful and protected inside and out and nobody or nothing can ever take that from you.

Love Always,
Older you

Sometimes I cry silently beside you
But my tears burn loud like screams
Your ears are so hollow
Like my voice is shallow
I wonder if I’m talking in a dream
Because I don’t feel heard

My concerns bounce off the wall like an empty apartment
My worries shut away in a chest locked with a one of a kind key
Insecurities become secrets because only I listen to them

Hear me
Acknowledge me
Validate me

I’m drowning in your rebuttals
Your disregard seeps through my pores
I choke on your counter neglect

How do we continue on?

The unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that someone or something is dangerous, likely to cause pain, or a threat. It sounds so matter of fact and easy to avoid. But most humans, not all, live most of their life based on fear. It is a sad fact that we rarely examine in our own lives unless we have suffered enough in order to do so.

Fear is one of the most potent emotions that may either paralyze humankind or drive us toward evolution and change. I currently want to choose the higher roads. I’ll admit that there are still things I do that are anxiety-driven, and I am destined never to be pure perfection. However, from my standpoint, failure or forfeiture is not an option. It never should have been that way, but sometimes people quit, give in, or just collapse.

Anyhow, my fears won’t win anymore. They will always exist, but once you can differentiate rational vs. non rational and persevere through obstacles in your life, you become more powerful. Confidence, clarity and mindfulness can go a long way. I hand my fears over to something greater and more powerful than myself daily. It keeps me humble and reliant on my faith.

I now own a metaphorical tool belt and toolbox. It comes with me everywhere I go. I add more and more tools to it as life goes along. Things that used to be baffle me beyond control, or cripple me, are now being handled with more ease. Things that I would never attempt, I’m now doing. Not only am I doing, I’m accomplishing.

With my tool collection, motivation, and consistency, I’m on the path towards tranquility and a greater degree of happiness than ever before. I don’t plan on reversing my ways now. So, after all the torture for so many years, I won’t mourn you. I will only remember you so I can explore further into the depths of my soul. I won’t cry for you or miss you. Will only think of you, then dismiss you! For now, goodbye fear.

I have always considered myself a poet at heart, so it would have felt easier for me to write a poem on this. However, it’s a challenge – therefore, I approach things differently when challenged. Why not think more outside of the box this time? Poems can be interpreted a thousand different ways – this letter is designed to be rather straightforward.
See, writing was always sort of a secret or maybe even subconscious outlet for me to release my inner most thoughts without anyone’s judgement. Also, the love and thrill of falling into the fantasy of something. Even if every human on Earth failed or bored me – that next interesting page still awaits. If I open it up. It can become borderline secretive if you allow it. A secret weapon in my eyes. Like a smart superpower if you will.
My beloved grandmother always told me that if I kept reading & writing it would keep my brain active and smarter, however I never pursued anything in life (at least anything worthwhile in my opinion) that had anything to do with writing. I still somehow kept it in my back pocket. I could type plenty of information on a computer, but does that really fulfill my soul? No. I coasted off other accomplishments, admired other writers & collected a nifty bookshelf over the years.
Here comes the mushy part. Clearly, I spent a lot of years in my life being shy as well as trying to fill my soul with things that were superficial. I would write or make a cool project, but then allow life to get in the way of what really made me truly happy inside. I didn’t like the attention on me, nor did I want rejection – so given the fact I never had any sort of degree or experience I continued to keep things in and just go about my little life.
The real shift came when I experienced serious loss in my family and started suffering mentally as well as physically. Every life trauma I ever experienced started to bleed out of me, preventing me from even functioning. We all know that 2020 was also a strange year and everyone had plenty of time on their hands as well. But in this case for me, something had to be done.
I started writing stories and poems, looking back through old diaries and books, reading different authors, listening to frequencies that helped my brain, taking tips and notes and meditating. Next thing you know I had tons of followers on social media and I’m writing on a consistent basis. I realized …. Why was I always holding back so much? I allowed my insecure fear to block me this WHOLE time. I am a writer! Who is to tell me I’m not? I may not have books published yet or be famous but my Higher Power & signs all from all over the Universe are throwing it right in my face. I just must keep trying to master this art. That’s all.
Then one night I sat with my son who is an avid hockey and baseball player. We watched Derek Jeter’s documentary. Everything I just wrote about in the previous paragraph helped reiterate to me that I wasn’t crazy, and then Lauren Brill and the Unsealed started easily giving me another platform to write and share my stories for so many people to read. Who cares if it’s perfect? It’s art, it is beautiful! It’s for people to read, drift and make their souls feel good.
You don’t necessarily have to wake up one day and be the best at something. But if you get up every day and tell yourself you’re going to do it, put your mind to it and stay consistent- then chances are you will be successful – somehow, someway. At least that’s the way I’m looking at it. I’m on my way to being a new self-published author. So, this is the thank you not only to all my inspirations but to ME for doing that. Changing my perspective, sacrificing certain habits and remaining resilient, consistent and patient is the only way this could ever and will happen.
So sincerely again, thank you Kelly.