Today, I'm connecting up with Verses 3-to-5 to share a letter I wrote to my 5-year-old self in 2012. It originally appeared on Quiet Anthem as a synchroblog contribution.
Dear 5-year-old me,
In thirty years you will wonder how you could have done things differently. You are only five now, but you will be plagued with the weight of what he has done to you, how he has made you feel sexy even though you aren’t quite sure what that word means, yet. In ten years you will hate yourself because of what he is doing to you now at night between sheets that have become a coffin.
When you turn seven, there will be a photographer who will pull down your elastic dress to expose your shoulders. You will feel ashamed.
When you are eleven, you will arrive home from school month after month crying because a school bus chorus chants that you are Pinocchio. Those who love you most will believe that junior high will be easier if your nose is smaller. But it never will be small, even after you place your faith in four different surgeons—at 11, at 16, at 24, at 26. Your nose has been created for you, and you have not been created small.
Read the rest at Verses 3-To-5