I’ve not written a letter to my teenage self.
If I did, it would be
crude,
rude,
and threatening.
I knew that boy
wouldn’t heed warnings.
He did little good.
The bad I remember,
the stupid,
the asinine and foolish acts
I cannot deny.
I was me.
I was there. I did it. I was
the thick-headed marauder
they claimed.
My survival is a mystery.
How it turned out like this; I’ll never know.
Look both ways in life to connect the dots.
What happened to all those years?
Mind the gaps in recall for memories denied.
Footnote: My wife edits these. She brought this to me saying, “it turned out well because you married me.” I agree. Ok, late addition of a video that kind of says cool stuff.
Our Literary Journey 
Life works in mysterious ways…
And I’m sure it’s a mix of a good woman and a good man. Youth is meant to be lived – not all hooligans remain so as they mature 😉
LikeLiked by 1 person
Dear Bill,
It’s amazing that any of us survive, isn’t it? I like your wife already. I suspect aspects of that thick-headed marauder contribute to the strong character you exhibit today in your writing.
Shalom,
Rochelle
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hey, Rochelle,
Thanks for compliment. Cantankerous they say, then and now. Others say “sensitive man” (like it’s an oxymoron), but only now.
Peace and happiness to you,
Bill
LikeLike
Could have been me writing that letter! Several wives had a go at taming me but they all gave up and went!
My seventy-four!
LikeLiked by 1 person
No comment. You seem ok now, Keith. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Your poem made me smile, Bill. I like your wife’s comments! Often it’s the people in our lives that turn us around. 🙂 I imagine you still have a cantankerous side that’s been tempered over the years by your sensitive side.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Glad you liked it, Sue. I still have my dark side, tempered or not. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person