From Me, Age 16

To my future self:

Please keep your pride in check.
If ever you feel the sting
of vanity, please read this note.
And feel your cheeks grow hot
with that feeling associated
so commonly with kids screaming
on buses and parents pinching
your cheeks in front of everybody.
Except, of course, this time the thing
that caused your embarrassment
is slightly harder to get rid of
as you would have to invent
a time machine to kill your teenage self
and thereby create a paradox.
Once you have killed me, please
use your time machine to reach your
twelve-year-old self and slap
her in the face, and tell her why.
And then, travel back to your own
time with the satisfaction of knowing
that you never wrote such crappy poetry
because you never got the chance to.

Please don't ever use the line
"I never did that at your age" because
you probably seriously considered it
but just lacked the guts and then
forgot it all. Besides, times change.

Please don't hate your daughter
if she has more in common
with your husband than with you.
Just remember that the invisible
things are the most important,
and that is probably what she
has inherited from you,
for better or for worse.

Please don't ever tell your daughter
that she is too young to fall in love
even though she probably is.
Chances are, though, that
she probably has enough to deal with
without having to worry about
your approval.

Please don't berate your daughter
for being rebellious. If she is anything
like you, she is trying to stay the same
obedient little girl she always
was, but it just isn't working.
She is not simply trying to spite you;
you are not important enough for that.

Please disregard all that I have said
about child rearing.

Please try to remember me, your self
at sixteen years, two months, six days
and approximately twenty-one hours.
I know you didn't mean to forget, but
you didn't mean to forget your
ten-year-old self either, and look
what happened. But see, I know better now,
and so I write you this note. And when,
at age twenty-three, I realize I've lost
this note, I'll know better still and write
a new note and actually manage to
keep it safe. Somehow.

And even if you do forget me
(which is probably for the best,
given the embarrassment I know I shall
cause for you), please, above all, remember
all the places you thought you would
ever be in life.

Please search for that
Well of Youthful Optimism
that you lost the map to
a while back. It's probably
right beside your missing
car keys.

Please hold fast to dreams
even if the are old and broken
and nothing more than a
crippled liability.

Please don't ever read this note
unless you are now really into
psychological masochism,
in which case,
please seek professional help
when you reach the end of this
sentence.