If I could write a letter to my teenage years it would probably sounds something like this:
Dear Teenage self,
Aren’t we one and the same?
You are me…I mean I was you
And yet now there is this separation between us two
We are staring at each other face to face
Same ears, same nose, same hair, same race
And yet I don’t even recognize who I’m looking at
We are two completely different people, you and I
We see two different visions of the world although we’re both looking through the same eye
Two different reactions to his actions…same guy
Our ears hear two different things, but it’s the same lie
We even speak differently
Every other thing you utter is profanity
I choose to select my words a little bit more carefully
But I dare not judge you….for you are me.
I mean, I was you!
And I understand the way your heart was abused
Not just by guys, but by family and friends your heart was seduced
Tricked to believe that that decision wouldn’t leave your heart bruised
So mistake after mistake you continue to make
Ignorance isn’t bliss if your soul the devil takes
Puts it in a jail cell and traps you before you wake
And now you’re trying to figure out what kind of pill to swallow when your soul aches
When your body is filled with depression and hate
Giving up is easy and on death you wait
You are me?
No. I was you!
You see, you live in defeat while I live in victory
You follow others down their path of destruction
I blaze trails. I’m making history.
Yeah that’s cliché, but I’m breaking free
I thought we were one in the same
But you are NOT me.
The Twenty year old me
Juaquina Carter| www.Abstinenceandthecity.com