To my young self.

you are sixteen

and all your clothes are black

your hair pink

you wear your heart in your sleeve

you listen

sad songs as if they were written

for you

as if you had experienced it all

so young

but already know how bitterness

feels like

grief, rejection, loneliness

you feel

so much that cannot be conveyed

with words

and nobody is there anyway

don’t cry

don’t cry my child

just survive

it’ll get better with time