A letter from myself

Nearly twenty years ago I wrote a letter to a stranger that contained many of my poems. This is poetry I'd written from 13 to 15 or 16 years old--I'm not certain of the dates. I also annotated the poetry, said why I'd written this or that one, and added details of my life. So many details. To basically a stranger. What was I thinking?

I guess I was incredibly brave, and thankfully it paid off. At the time this person wrote back encouraging words that helped motivate me continue with my writing. And we still know each other, she's family now, and she's just mailed back my original letter, printed out on its dot matrix paper, with all the poems I thought I'd lost.

Have you ever received a letter from your 15 year old self?

I read the first paragraph and I had to stop. I recognized myself... but I was looking from the outside in, and it unsettled me. Eventually I had the guts to continue reading. Or skim, at least. Not because I didn't want to see it but because it was so very strange to be a witness to this other time and place. My friend suggested that far-off girl would be impressed with my writing now and the person I've become. I think so too, but I also think she'd surprised. Reading these old poems, one thing stands out: they are utterly blunt, honest, and full of emotion. I haven't lost it entirely, but when trying to write for a definite audience it's easy to misplace the power of your own feelings. That power is why I wrote in the first place. It must be tempered now, but I never want to lose it.