a letter from me to myself. (the wiser, lived-in part, to the day-to-day me).

darling girl,

write for yourself.

sure, yes, okay. yes, it was easier when you began and no one was looking and no one was watching and no one was needing, but for you. and yes, that's changed. and so okay, maybe it's not as easy. and maybe you can't run into an old-friend-such-and-such at the 18th street station and promptly write about it.

or maybe you can.

maybe you can and maybe you should.

quiet those voices. those outside voices, those terribly unhelpful, intrusive voices, politely tell them to shove off. you get to do that darling girl, you get to ask them to shut up, that is your right, your perfect grace.

writers are always selling someone down the river and mostly it will be yourself--this is how you write. but sometimes it won't be. sometimes it will have to be someone else. make peace with that. forgive yourself that. you have your four or five that you will protect with a ferocity you've only just begun to discover, but save for them, the others are not your responsibility.

write.

stop letting others dictate the flow of the current with their shoulds and woulds and buts and can'ts. politely tell them to get their oar out of your creek and get on with it.

write for yourself darling girl and get on with it.

there will be those who don't like what you have to say. let them. let them dislike it.

and there will be those who will diminish and demean--who will shrink you down--stamp you with flimsy adjectives and pallid labels in an effort to make more sense of you.

you are not to be made sense of! you, darling girl, are not to be made sense of. you are bigger than that.

and for the love of all that is good and holy please stop worrying about who may or may not read this. about what ex-boyfriend may see something unflattering or what boy may take a phrase and decide that it's his and run with it. i got news for you kid, you can't control that part. and yes, darling girl, you got screwed recently. fate threw you a nasty, little curveball. it was just about as shit as shit can be, but let's talk about the remarkable thing: you're still standing. and you used your voice. no small feat, my dear. it may feel large and unjust now and okay, let yourself feel that, but the whole thing--that whole unfortunate situation will prove a footnote of this story, i promise you that.

so now use your voice here. write.

what you're really afraid of is that he or him or what or not might glimpse your capacity to love. and you yourself are only just waking to the wealth within you and it's startling. i know that. the extent, the boundless measure of it, is almost alarming. do not be frightened by it. this is the source of your power. and if another is put off by it, that's on them, darling girl, not on you. think of it, someone alarmed by the strength and potency of your love? that is a person you simply don't need darling girl.

and now i'm gonna give you a gift. ready? i'm gonna give you permission to say no to that second cup of coffee with that boy or that man or that guy on the cusp who you know is not right for you. politely excuse yourself and politely move on. don't apologize for knowing what you want or honoring the push of your gut. your gut is strong my dear. and loud. lordy is it loud: listen to it, trust it.

move on and write anyway.