My dear body,

You are my home, my wife, my life.

The mistress that sleeps in me too,
Will someday go with all her plights.

Her words of insanity, and her thoughts
that hate on you, my home, my wife, my life

Will come and go till I find it in me to no longer need
That mistress that sleeps

She is cunning and evil

Telling me my body is a beautiful as a crack house
Telling me I am not womanly enough because of my size
Telling me I do not deserve to eat
Telling me to punch myself
She is cunning and evil

She is the mistress that sleeps so I can be the wife that won’t second guess what she says

~

My dear bones
They have caused me no trouble

My eyes
They are mine

My skin
Soft Soft Soft they say

My nose
Perfect
Never Changed
Always Stayed With Me

My scars
Protect the cells that could have killed me

My back
I was embarrassed of you
Now I flex you in the mirror

~

My dear body––with all it’s dots and marks and lines and wrinkles and hair––you have stayed with me and hung on even when I hit you or made you bleed or made you bruise

You heal me even when I do not want you too

My dear brain is trying every damn day to erase the bad thoughts and race to the good ones; my damn brain deserves an award; my damn body deserves an award

Dear body: you are more of a friend to me, than I have been to you. Thank you.

Dear, Unsealers:

This is me in 2023, writing to myself at age 16.

I see the photo of him from December 2001, four months removed from a double leg surgery. In the background at his own birthday party. Clutching onto the walker to keep his balance. While trying to find a reason to smile.

I want to let him know, there will be plenty more days of joy in the years ahead. He will have the cast removed from his leg and be able to walk on his own two feet. And that moment will be one that he’ll treasure for the rest of his lifetime.

Once the brace comes off, the world will no longer be as off limits. With all the strength and courage returning, Europe will come calling. A trip every year for five straight years. He’ll keep on going as he keeps exploring the continent and writes about his experiences. The photos and videos taken will also convey what it was like to travel solo.

He’ll graduate from high school and college, with the diplomas on the wall to prove it. Along with the poster from his book, “A Poetic Journey, Staying At Home” on the wall of his bedroom when his writing and poetry begin to take shape.

It might not look like it at 16, but there will still be plenty of life to be lived. And your story of resilience will go on to inspire other people to see beyond their limitations.

I’ve been feeling so defeated.
So many emotions bottled up,
Looking for a healthy way to release it.

I’ve always loved to write,
But too afraid to share the feelings I’m feeling.

Wanting to use my life to make a difference,
But I’d have to put myself out there,
For the whole world to see it.

Too afraid to lose my sense of security,
I hold on to all that I been through.
But what good is my pain,
If it’s not used to help you.

As the years pass me by,
Sometimes I feel I’ve lost my purpose.
Just when I think I’ve got it figured out,
Here comes life saying,
“Here, let me show you this.”

I have to relearn & readjust,
Every so many years,
& it’s so exhausting.

Idk whats right & what’s real,
Life tends to back out on its word & confuse me foreal.
Todays healthy, is tomorrows cancer.
Just when I think I’m headed in the right direction,
I fall off my track,
& create a new disaster.

I never knew how to love myself,
Even though I really tried.
My idea of self love backfired on me,
Time after time.

Then one day my body gave me no choice but to listen,
I was barely walking or standing & my mental health was deteriorating.

I had those thoughts we never talk bout,
Because I wasn’t living.
I was glued to my bed,
Thoughts racing day & night in my head.

I couldn’t be the mom I wanted to be,
& above all, I think that’s what broke me.
So many things combined,
Made my body explode inside.
& From there on out,
I had to say goodbye to the old me.

Day after day,
I wake up & go to bed in pain.
But I try… again & again.
Whole body screaming,
“Someone please come & heal me.”

Slowly but surely, I’m working.
Hoping to find the remedies to heal all the trauma stored in me.

I deserve more then self pity.
I’ve seen ppl worse off,
living they’re dream.

It would be so disrespectful,
Not to do all that I can,
To feel better.

I’m hurten,
but occasionally I hear that voice in my head saying, “I’m worth it.”

It’s a painfully slow progress,
But Its said, “slow & steady wins the race.”
I hear we hold within us & above us,
All the tools & strength.
Strength needed to face tomorrow,
Until you reach the day with no more sorrow.
Self healing, not self pity,
Is the motto.

My body is a powerful place,
Covered in Gods healing & grace.
& one day I shall conquer.

Dear, Unsealers:

As I looked at my silhouette on the beach in Rincon, Puerto Rico the sunlight surrounds the shadow.

I can’t help but smile when I see my entire body in the early morning light. I’ve been holding it back for so long. Covering it up with socks, shoes and jeans. Making excuses for not joining in the fun. Now, I’m walking along the beach barefoot. It doesn’t matter that there’s not a soul around, just me.

The scars on the right leg from a double surgery back in 2001 are ever present, all seven of them. And the scars from the pins that used to be in my three middle toes. I feel the sensation of the sand softly walking up and down the beach. The splash of the water getting closer to the waves. And the breeze of the water surrounding me. Life feels good right now.

Days like this weren’t possible before. I was so afraid that everyone would gawk at my body. Heaven knows it came up for criticism during my younger years from loved ones. And I’ll be the first to admit that my body is an imperfect vessel.

But in this moment, I embrace myself fully and all the scars that I have. Without my scars I wouldn’t be the resilient person that I am.

Dear Teenage Self,

You have a view of the Brooklyn Bridge. Yes, you can only see a little part of it. Yes, you have to go to the corner of the window to see. But, yes, you have a view of the Brooklyn Bridge! You made it to New York City; you made it across the country.

College has been more up and down than that roller coaster you rode in Las Vegas on your 15th birthday, but it has been the best years of your life. Unlike yourself now, you can finally talk to boys without getting red in the face, and unlike your fear of never making guy friends, now most of your friends are guys. You love them all. You have cried on their shoulders; they have cried on yours.

College you even has a boyfriend. He is nothing like how you expected. He is tall, rocks a beard, eyes prettier than emeralds, and not Christian. The letter you wrote to your future husband when you were about to go to college could not have been more wrong. You wrote that you knew nothing about your future husband except for the fact that he will love God. Fickle irony, God. This time though, I am grateful for it.

Your boyfriend treats you how God would want him too. He is beyond patient and makes you believe in love more and more each day. He is someone I never thought I would deserve.

Also, dear pubescent me, you may think you’re going through high school right now, but all the pubescent phases you’re supposed to have––dating, dealing with secret insecurities, drinking, parties, etc––you are going through now. You’re a late bloomer for the stereotypical adolescent horrors and ecstasies. But, don’t worry, all that studying and staying home you are doing right now––however excessive it is––pays off in the end.

Oh yeah, by the way, your dream of studying abroad in Spain, it’s happening this fall. Oh yeah, and your mom believes in love again. She’s happier than ever. Oh yeah, and your best friend––no surprise there––you are still soulmates with her. She’s still your north star.

Best of all, every birthday you no longer think well, at least I know it won’t say “whatever age I just passed” on my tombstone. I’m in control of my thoughts that once made me believe I wouldn’t let myself get to 19 or 20, but, here I am, 19, and about to turn 20 in a few weeks.

Teenage self, I want to say thank you for holding on. Thank you for reaching out to get help, thank you for putting yourself first when you didn’t even see yourself as worthy enough to be here, thank you for looking forward to your future self. I do not look down on you; rather, I am on my knees thanking you for walking even when your legs were numb and breathing even when you had to grab the air yourself and make it go down.

You made me who I am; I will make us proud.