Dear Younger Me.

By Immane A Shiphrah

Dear younger me,

We’re not where we were supposed to be.

We’re not living the dream.

We’re not doing shows, we’re not famous..

We’re stuck in between.

We haven’t made it to Harvard.

Our room’s still unclean.

We now write poetry

We no longer sing.

We’ve stopped hoping

No longer chasing things

Not as happy as we thought we’d be

We’re struggling everyday to not scream.

We don’t smile much, we cry all night

These days we barely sleep.

We’ve started facing the reality

We’ve started to feel.

We no longer express,

Instead we’ve started to bleed.

We’re not having the life we fancied

Rather we wake up everyday wishing to leave.

We didn’t excel in highschool, almost dropped out.

We joined college, in which, we never thought we’d be.

Not a doctor, not an artist.

Just another broken piece.

We tried to hold on to it,

But we let our dreams fly away in the breeze.

Depression stepped in, messed it all up.

Plucked the teeth of the vigour of my dreams.

We’re not dating a guy,

We don’t look good, we don’t want to be seen.

We no longer live, we only exist

Just because our lungs have air, we breathe.

Here I am, calling from later

To tell you how life is going to be.

But you don’t even pick the call,

In planning a bright future, you’re busy.

Yes there is a future, not the one you wanted.

And sadly, you are in it anyway.

By Immane A Shiphrah