Dear, old me,

Their thoughts mean nothing,

Chose to be who you desire,

Believe what you want to see.

Dear, old me,

You don’t need to be seen,

By people who’ll see you in memories,

And only care about your surface.

Oh, old me,

Hatred is a honed weapon,

And when you stab someone to flaunt,

It won’t be too pretty.

Just see, old me,

How your thoughts will swirl forever,

Thinking you’re too odd to live life,

When you’re being happy.

Take care of yourself,

And remember what you’ve worked for;

It’ll be following.