My Dear, M.

Young readers, young people, we need to think.
Do you worry about the small whispers that echo in your brain?
Do you think only of the attention, the love?
Do you pray at night to the gods up above us?
Longing for something to make you feel pretty, wishing you had a smaller nose, a thinner waist
You don’t realise how beautiful you look because all you see is a filled space!

Young people, please listen to me,
Your eyes, they sparkled so bright before.
Will you smile again, please, oh how I love you so.
But you don’t see it, my love for you,
You only see the person in the mirror, an unwanted and ugly face.

Young beings that should not worry about that scar on your face,
Your beauty completes me, don’t put it to waste.
You make me smile, you make me laugh!
But the look on your is almost… sad?

Young readers, please, just look at me,
I love you so much, it makes it hard to breathe.
I love who you are, I don’t care where you’re from,
I don’t care what you look like, I care about what you’ve done.

Young people, I beg you, don’t cry at your scars!
They tell your story, those little shooting stars.
Young readers, I see your tears and they fill my lungs,
You hurt so much, because you wont show yourself.

Young beings, big and small,
Some of you cut to let the feelings bleed and fall,
You burned your skin, you bruised your face,
You cried to the gods to give you something to live for,
To Aphrodite, for beauty to rest on your face.

Young readers, don’t say I wont understand,
I am young too, I feel like I am but a grain of sand,
Insignificant and small, a waste of space.
Young people I know your pain,
I know how you cry because you wont see your face.

Young beings, I too have shed blood,
I burned and I bruised and I did it in vain!
The scars were not worth it, so don’t walk down this path.
Young people don’t try to be the next Sylvia Plath.
You wish you were pretty or that you didn’t exit,
You see a troll, ugly with its horrid green,
Hiding under a bridge, in the cave of a cliff.
But I see a being of godly beauty that’s covered in mist.

Young readers, I love all of your scars,
I love how your jaw is shaped,
I praise those eyes that seem to shy away.
Young people I love you, I love those pointy elbows,
I love the way that your nose rests on your face.

You say you are not pretty, those filters deceive you.
You cry those tears because your knees seem to be knobbly,
But I see a valley, a beautiful mountain range.
Young people I beg you to look in the mirror, see who you are and just don’t care.
Look at those knees, look at those ears, look in the mirror. Don’t cry.
Young people, I wish you would see how you look,
See all those differences, those things you point out?
I love them, I love the way you used to sing with that voice,
Sing again, lively and poised,
Sing loud and angry,
Sing far and sing wide!

Young people statistically that I have never met,
I want to see you out there again,
I want to see you enjoying your hobbies and talking to friends.
I want to see you be happy, just one last time,
Your smile is one I would kill to see again,
Even if I die.

I love you so much, but I fear to show it.
I love you so much, I wish I had let you know it.