A Letter to Someone in my Past
Dear 12-year old self (or me from the past),
Hi, this is you but seven years older. And I’m afraid I didn’t quite turn out the person you are expecting to be.
Dear me from the past, at 14 I learned to kill with my tongue. The words that have never resided in my tongue, I found, were suddenly ammo from nowhere, firing nonstop at my anger’s lightest pull of the trigger. My temper was dynamite with the fuse shorter than normal; whose explosions, more often than not, prey on Mom and Dad. I killed them many times, kid, even when I didn’t want to. Even when I knew I shouldn’t. I saw the fear in their eyes countless times for the monster their daughter has become. They didn’t know I was afraid of myself, too.
Dear me from the past, at 16 I met a boy. We liked each…
View original post 1,427 more words