Youth (poem)


Grown up too quick,
Adulthood presses from every angle.
Body twisting around the truth,
Rigid and unyielding until its reveal.

Cursed in the shape of a tree,
Crooked and wailing into the darkness.
Frozen at the core of its trunk,
Yet rustling its leaves to communicate.

Gone too fast and never recovered,
Never well while still escaping truth.
Learned first-hand but stubbornly forgotten,
Fitting in with prescribed narratives set.

Before closeness with corruption,
Touching palms with decay and pain.
Discover novel wonders abounding,
Walk through portals to fresh possibilities.

Letter to Young Me


If you feel like other people are selfish and lacking empathy, you are correct. People like us do human development backwards. Before we can develop our own ego, we must build our empathy and ability to cast ourselves into the minds of others. It’s how we survived.

But when the time comes, when that danger is behind you, you can focus on developing your ego. You will learn to be selfish while others are still figuring out how to be selfless. You’ll be building yourself from scratch, while it appears everyone else is already complete.

Will I ever stop feeling different? You must have wondered that a million times. You will never be like most people. You will always be a minority. That’s a state of existence you must accept about yourself. But you aren’t destined to be existentially alone. In that elusive intersection between you and other people, when your paths to development overlap and intersect, you can feel connection so powerful it will make your soul soar. But you must seek it. Such treasures do not hide in plain view.

You are special, young me. You are a treasure. Many will want to plunder you, but some will want to cherish you. Such is our blessing and curse.

It’s a strange, liminal place to be. Being able to relate to almost everyone but pretty much no one can relate to you.