The way that love feels reminds me of the peaceful song of birds chirping on a Sunday morning. It is as gentle as the breeze created by a butterfly’s wings and as soft as rose petals. But its impact is as profound as trumpets in a marching band.

Love is the act of showing compassion, empathy, consideration, and forgiveness to others. It is more than putting Neosporin and a bandaid on their cuts and scrapes. Love is helping someone heal the wounds that you cannot see. It is giving them comfort and support on their walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death the same way that you do at their award ceremony.

Having the capacity to understand these constructs is what makes you extraordinary. The ambiance that you create allows others to be their authentic selves without the fear of judgment. You take the time to get to know them and you accept them for everything that they are. In the process, you do your best to accommodate their wants and needs, even if that means sacrificing your own. Your love is so genuine that you do this in silence hoping that they know how much you adore them. In fact, you love so deeply that you feel the need to protect your loved ones from everything, even yourself.

That is why you are more valuable than the last golden ticket. Even during your darkest moments, you are a source of light for the people around you. Having the ability to save others while also saving yourself is the most beautiful gift that God can give a person. I know that at times it feels like a curse but that could not be further from the truth. It is your superpower.

Having a purpose bigger than yourself is not easy. If it was, everyone would be a superhero. I know that there are times when you want to give up because your heart hurts. Sometimes you just want to disappear because you feel like no one sees you. All that you want is for someone to show you the love that you give so freely. When they do not, you find yourself crying quietly in the middle of the night because you do not understand why you are not enough. But you are.

You are not the problem. Love is never supposed to feel like a game of tug-a-war. It is a gift exchange. The currency that is spent on the gift is reciprocation. People can only love you as much as they love themselves. We cannot spend money that we do not have and that is okay.

When someone does not show you the same love that you show them, try not to get upset. Instead, pray that they learn how to love themselves more and remember the first rule of gift exchanges. They always have a spending requirement. If you cannot afford to spend the minimum amount required, then you are not allowed to participate.

Denying someone access to you is not selfish. It is an important part of self-love. If you pour more into others than they pour into you, your cup will eventually be emptied. When you turn to them for a refill, they will not be able to quench your thirst. This will result in you feeling drained and forgetting who you are.

I cannot promise you that it will be easy. I cannot promise that you won’t fall sometimes. But I can promise to always pick you back up. When you feel unloved and abandoned, I will be your mirror. I will shine your light back to you and remind you who you are. You are a beautiful blessing to this world. You deserve to be loved, respected and cared for. You deserve everything that your soul desires and more.

When you feel like no one cares, remember that I do. I see the way that you spread love everywhere that you go like the bumble bees spread pollen. I think that is amazing. I appreciate you for everything that you are. Always remember that my love for you is more abundant than the stars in the night sky and deeper than the Pacific Ocean. For you, my well will never run dry.

Love Always,
Your Higher Self

To my younger self.
Don’t remain suppressed.
Perplexed.
What’s next?
Hard-pressed.
Constantly stressed.
Life’s a mess.
Nevertheless.
Let out my younger self.
Emotionally flex.
Don’t compete complement.
Out loud in text.
No’s and yes.
Dirty and fresh.
Poor and blessed.
Let out my younger self
Don’t remain suppressed.

Title: Ignorance is Bliss

“Ignorance is bliss”. That’s a term I learned back in high school, but I never fully understood its meaning.
How can uncertainty ever have a positive connotation to it?
Looking back at my childhood, it hits me. Ignorance was the innocence and the optimism I would now deem as arrogance, making it all so blissful.
I would do anything to have that level of arrogance again without the anxiety or rage constantly looming over me as it does today.
Before all of the abuse, heartbreaks, and self-deprecation, there lies a child so full of life that death itself is nothing but a mere shadow.
Everything had beauty and the world was a plaster of saturated colors on a canvas.
Making friends was almost second nature to me even the convenience store owner just down the street was also a friend and I never used to fear strolling down the bustling streets compared to today; where simply walking across the street puts a lump in my throat because stalking, harassment and the fear of men is the new reality I live in.
Birthdays were fiestas where nearly the entire town would celebrate along with us. Compared to now, I wouldn’t even know who to invite because my circle of friends deviated into a table for two. and weekends spent by the river or playing with the neighborhood kids have transformed into errands and second jobs.
Most of all, I miss the ignorance. The unbothered boosts of energy that once enabled me to run barefoot through tall grass without the fear of snakes, climb trees without the fear of falling, dance without the fear of judgments, and declare my love without the fear of heartbreaks.
Regardless of the unforgiving new circumstances, I’ve developed a resilience that protects the innocence of the child that lies within and I know still exists.
She is kind, generous, and playful though coated with trauma, rage, and maturity that ironically protects it.

By: Simone Coleman July 10, 2024

Dear little me (Simone),
How I praise you, with many thanks that you are my precious inner child. I thank you, how despite that my physical childhood days are over, I can still enjoy adolescent things in my adulthood as well. Honestly, who said that grown-ups hate to have fun? I’m all grown up, and I don’t hate to have fun and I never will all thanks to you, inmost heart & soul. I especially love and cherish you for being the source of my active imagination. Not to mention my immortality fandom for all my favorite cartoon shows growing up. Such as all things Disney, Danny Phantom, Dr. Seuss and even Sanrio; Hello Kitty & Friends.

I cannot believe how paranoid I used to be, as I was still processing through puberty and letting other’s disapproval get the better of me. Remember, when our folks used to lecture us, back when we were 13 yrs. old, about still watching cartoons being “immature”? They used to think that we were watching cartoons so much, that we were not focusing enough on reality, they were wrong anyway. It was even hard to have a good laugh, without our expounding Aunt yelling at us to “Stop clowning!” Let us face it, our endless love for cartoons, from the laughs, and exciting adventures the intriguing characters would have in their stories, have always helped us cope through our depression. The comedy and hilarious nonsense would bring us the best medicine to drink in, laughter.

While reality has often brought us down, and made us feel so lonely in the universe, cartoons have never done that. We both must agree how our active imagination was always our source to “Getting away from it all.” Not to mention how we could often relate to the many figments in our favorite tales, where we felt more welcomed in their fictional world than in our world of corporeality. Furthermore, thanks to our curious, abnormal wonders to the creators of the stories we have known and love, we have soon gained the potential skills to be creative ourselves through literacy and drawing. In conclusion, which is why with these talents we have inherited through our growth and passion for fiction, fun and adventure, grown up me (Simone), plans to spread joy to the children of this generation and the next, with our endless optimism ways, and creativity.

Overall, I wish to also inspire the children and even the young adults of today that fun, love of pop culture, or cherishing childhood memories never had to depart our lives, just because we’ve got responsibilities now. Let us not also forget how even in the bible God says “Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” (Matthew 18:1-3). There is also that to consider, with remaining a child at heart. Let us both remember that growing up (old) physically is mandatory, but remaining young inside is optional.

Accompanied with deep gratitude.
Yours truly, Simone (fully-fledge you).

I said I loved you
But did I really?
I guess somewhat
But not ideally
Picked you apart
Judged you real hard
From this earth
I wanted to depart
Shrunk you so much
Daily I’d contort
But one day
I really saw you
And as time passed
I was more in awe of you
Your skin
Your smile
Your stare
I even came to love
The curls of your hair
The outside was one thing
And before
Only for it I cared
But as I got to know the inside
It topped the outside,
Beyond compare
Your intelligence
Your wit
Your endurance
Your grit
Your creativity
And charm
One of the things I love the most
You take accountability for your harm
Come to find out
Your heart is actually warm
And as it turns out
I’d want no other host
Congrats for all the growth you make
To it all, I give a toast.

Dear Little Logan,
Unfortunately, I don’t always remember being you, but I know how often you thought of me. You were always curious about how you would look when you got older, but all you could imagine was being taller. Well, you were right about that! Aside from that, though, I know you spent a good amount of time wondering who I would be. Well, we should be proud. You should be. I wouldn’t be who I am today if it weren’t for you. I love you for always looking out for us. You didn’t know it at the time– eight years ago– but you saved our life. Moving away from Mom was your very first step on your way to yourself. You didn’t even know it yet, but at age twelve, you were already taking control of your life and doing whatever you could to make us comfortable. That’s who you are, Logan– strong, wise, and caring. I’m proud of these traits; these are us. We didn’t learn this from Mom, Dad, friends, or anyone else. This is inside you, sewn into your soul– you care. I love this about you, but my favorite thing about you is that you are never too far from laughter. You went through hell, kid. But year after year, you laughed, you loved, you found joy wherever it could have been. You never seem to run out of love, and I adore that about you. I’ve never met anyone with quite so much love to give. That is an amazing thing. But remember Logan: save some for yourself. Love yourself like you love flowers and smiles and all your favorite songs. You and I both know the world needs love, but listen when I say that you do too.
You know what you went through, so be kind to yourself day by day. Credit yourself for your resilience. Never let go of your tenderness. I love you so achingly, Logan. I still carry your pain. I see you. I wish I could hold you now. So I do. I remember that you are at my center, that I have been constructed around you. There would be no me without you. I know how many people are telling you this, but hopefully, you’ll believe it if it comes from me: It will get better. It will get better when you move away from Mom. Then it’ll get better when you move away from Dad. It’ll get better when you move to Oregon. It’ll always get better because you steer us there. We know what is best for us.
Keep pushing through and keep finding love and sharing it. Never apologize for yourself. Remember I’ll always be with you. And remember that love will carry you through.

Hang in there,

Dear Abigail, 

Every day, I try to be more and more like you. 

I listen to your favorite song and sing in the shower like you used to. 
I pick out your favorite ice cream flavor and eat it on a random Tuesday simply because I can. 

I wear dresses you would love 
and twirl in the rain 
and I thank god for your existence. 

For everything that you are, 
That you’ve survived, 
That you’ll continue to survive. 

For every friendship you make, 
And for every friendship that ends. 

For the time you cut your hair shorter than any girl your age, 
And for the time you grew it past your waist. 

For your “tomboy” phase and all the basketball practices that Dad took you to. 
For your “girly girl” phase and all the flowers, Granny threw on stage at your ballet recital. 

For the boys you had a crush on, 
And the girls you loved in secret. 

For the times you looked in the mirror and cried softly into your pillow. 
But for the times you took a deep breath and put the swimsuit on anyways. 

For every trip, stumble, and fall, 
And your bravery that carried us through it all. 
The bravery that still carries us. 

For every time you’re told you’re “too much.” 
Or worse, 
“Not enough”. 

For every time you hear those words, and continue to twirl in the rain. 

I love you. I’ll keep trying to be as brave as you. Always. 

Love, 
Abby

You were weird
And quiet
And you might have been a beast

Your parents had prayed for an angel
When you arrived, spent and vacant
You opened your mouth
And no song rang out
Just a confused sort of yelp

You morphed into an eight-year-old human girl
Changed your clothes three times a day
Spun wheels of stories
Cried without sounds

Your mother said it was time to start showering
After coming indoor, greasy and breathless

Your father never looked at you the same
Once he caught your legs sprouting spikes of hair
He told his Wife to hand you the family razor

But you continued to smell like grass
Pretending the trees were friends
The dogs, your sisters

When you began middle school
You wrote love poems for your teachers
Tried out for basketball
They sent you to get tested for scoliosis
and the drool

But you howled the loudest in spring musical
Made fellow hairy friends
Who would later hunt you down

But snarled and unkempt
Starry-eyed and smelly

You kept
becoming

You are weird
And quiet
And you might be a beast.