To a Younger Me,
Don’t be fooled by obsequious cliches that wrap sultry fingers around your values and choke the life out of them while delivering hollow kisses like blows bundled in shiny wrapping paper that only conceal the decay within. Don’t give ear to siren calls whose voices offer a knowledge not their own while luring you to the unholy penitence of contrition, surrounding you in the treacherous cliffs of cloaked deceit and the falling rocks of duplicity that rise from an ocean of mesmeric beguiling and subtle trickery.
Don’t fall prey to the beauty of the senses that entice the sensuality of your being, stealing your sweet innocence in the murky fringes of your inner esthetics and heightening an experience not meant to be yours. You do have a sixth sense found in the brushstrokes of everything you write that, sadly, you will not discover until it’s too late and the pills have already sedated your awareness.
Don’t love frivolously or blindly for not everyone deserves to explore the depths of your beating heart nor exploit the vastness of its expanse; love with eyes wide open and palm-side up, not to receive what others have to proffer since their offerings are not always balms for the soul, but to give freely without losing sight of those whom you love the most and of who you are to just you.
Let the sun shine bright in your eyes where it can penetrate the closed lids of your own fears, but savor those moments of shade when darkness pays you a visit in a chariot of clouds and your words spill hopelessly upon my page. Though your future holds very few oases in the deserts of your life, drink deep of the purity of the hidden waters that moisten your swollen tongue, gives voice to your scorched soul, and braces you for the woman I am today.