(A Letter to My Former Selves)<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
To the six-month-old hardhead<\/p>\n
who felt the need to prove your independence<\/p>\n
by crawling off Grandma Peggy’s mattress<\/p>\n
and connecting with the hardwood headfirst…..<\/p>\n
being first at everything isn’t always a good thing.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
To the freckle-faced, four-eyed first grader,<\/p>\n
so proud to pedal that little pink bicycle<\/p>\n
all the way home<\/p>\n
all by yourself<\/p>\n
in the bitter winter cold,<\/p>\n
then fling it into the yard in frustration<\/p>\n
once you reached your destination….<\/p>\n
remember home is the place where when you have to go there, they have to take you in.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
To the geeky seventh grader<\/p>\n
from the wrong side of the tracks,<\/p>\n
so full of unwarranted anger and desperate for acceptance<\/p>\n
she once snorted a packet of Sweet ‘n Low<\/p>\n
and set her nose on fire for days trying to build this badass persona….<\/p>\n
it’s okay to be young and stupid, but it’s just as okay to be yourself.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
To the angsty high school junior<\/p>\n
who fell in love for the first time,<\/p>\n
had her first awkward kiss,<\/p>\n
broke up with her boyfriend and swore the world<\/p>\n
must be coming to an end<\/p>\n
and her heart would never heal….<\/p>\n
he was the first, not the last. There will be others.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
To the young lady away at college<\/p>\n
and living on her own for the first time,<\/p>\n
ready to take on the world,<\/p>\n
thinking she knew it all…<\/p>\n
with education comes knowledge, but with experience comes wisdom.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
To the chubby grungy redhead<\/p>\n
wearing flannel and sneakers,<\/p>\n
with a Bud Light in one hand and<\/p>\n
a Marlboro in the other….<\/p>\n
look to your left. See that young man in the wheelchair?<\/p>\n
He will change your life forever, in ways you could never comprehend. Give him a chance.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
To the twenty-year-old newlywed,<\/p>\n
wondering what to say to your husband who was just wheeled into the room<\/p>\n
after losing his right leg…<\/p>\n
it doesn’t really matter. With cracked lips and dry mouth, he kisses your face and sobs.<\/p>\n
All he wanted was to know you were there.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
To the weary-eyed thirtysomething woman<\/p>\n
who sits steadfastly at his bedside,<\/p>\n
holding his hand and stroking his flat head,<\/p>\n
feeling your heart break as you listen to his ragged breaths<\/p>\n
fall fewer and further between,<\/p>\n
as you whisper “I love you” and tell him it’s time….<\/p>\n
this isn’t goodbye. He will always be a part of you. You wouldn’t be you if it weren’t for him.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
To the middle-aged widow<\/p>\n
who has struggled to move forward for\u00a0seven years,<\/p>\n
but has tried to rediscover her purpose,<\/p>\n
in spite of the obstacles Life has thrown her way…..<\/p>\n
Even baby steps show movement.<\/p>\n
You got this girl. Never forget you’re a survivor!<\/p>\n
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Dear Freckle Face (A Letter to My Former Selves) To the six-month-old hardhead who felt the need to prove your independence by crawling off Grandma Peggy’s mattress and connecting with the hardwood headfirst….. being first at everything isn’t always a good thing. To…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1212,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7,13],"tags":[3055,23,31,2829,3133],"class_list":["post-52787","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-marathon-poem","category-miscellaneous","tag-letter-to-myself","tag-life","tag-love","tag-rickey","tag-story-of-me"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/52787","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1212"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=52787"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/52787\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":53965,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/52787\/revisions\/53965"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=52787"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=52787"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=52787"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}