Dear Me

Dear me, you’re learning things
About yourself. You wear hiking
Boots through rivers and count
Stars instead of sheep. You’ve
realised individuality is

 

Wrapped in paper sat in a box, bow
Tied and name in cursive on the front,
Your box is a little worse for wear but
At least its worn, like the unofficial
Uniform of life, you strive in sun

 

Which is ironic because winter has
Always been you’re favourite season
But maybe the fireplace was simply
A surrogate for the pace of productivity
All along, you’ve admitted you can be

 

Wrong. Now there’s no going back
You slide your feet through sand and
Attempt back-flips, drive North instead of
East and forget to eat, you wear sunglasses
At drive through spaces so no one can see

 

Your face, like the open book it always
Was, cause for alarm that the world might
Catch you and toss you like a paperweight
Your box the bait for insults and slander
The blander words falling from tongues

 

So, I end with one solitary request
That you never let that box go, tie the
Ribbons to your wrist, shake away the sticks
And stones, show the world you have the bones
To take its weight, and keeping dancing on your way

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