An Open Letter to my Young Emo Self

Dear Young Emo Kierstyn,

Stop it. You are not an emo. Your mom won’t let you buy anything with skulls or chains, you’re not allowed to wear eyeliner, and your bedroom is decorated in neon pink and lime green bubbles. You, my young friend, are exactly the poser that your Myspace bio says you are not.

By the way, what are you wearing in your Myspace profile picture? Are those purple, mesh, cut-off gloves? Good god, child.

Bless our mother for allowing us to express ourselves, but she could have cautioned against some of our less than desirable fashion moments. (Those wide-legged, black cargo pants….)

I cleaned out my room a little while ago and I stumbled across some of your writings. You are quite the angsty one, aren’t you? You have entire notebooks filled with poems and prose about how hard it is to be you. Really? How hard is it to be you?

You little suburban nightmare.

Here’s an excerpt from one of my favorite, particularly angsty, pieces:

Tears stream down my face
Glass shards turn the red stained lace

Wow, how chilling. How thought provoking. Slid that in an envelope, stamp it, and mail it to My Chemical Romance. You’re on the verge of a songwriting career.

While we’re on the topic, the fact that you listen to My Chemical Romance, Fall Out Boy, Green Day, etc., does not make you cooler or more cultured than your Jesse McCartney and Pussycat Doll listening peers (unless they listen to Nickelback, then you are definitely superior).

Truth bomb, everyone else is also listening to those sad, yelling men. Emos are the hipsters of the 2000’s, always thinking they are outside of the mainstream, without realizing they are the mainstream.

Oh, that’s right, you don’t know what a hipster is yet. Well, don’t worry, in a few years, you’ll try to be one of those as well.

Now, I’m not saying that you never find music in the corners of the internet (thanks to your cooler and superior emo of an older brother), but does it really count as a win if you’re listening to high-pitched boys recording in their closets, singing poorly about lost love and self-hate? (I’m pretty sure those are the only two topics an emo singer has ever covered.)

I know you’re listening to a lot of those songs right now. You’re in the middle of your first heartbreak and your dark little soul can hardly handle the pain.

You have “Welcome to My Life” by Simple Plan on repeat and you’ve changed your AIM profile to a scathing paragraph about how cruel the world is and how you will never love again.

Those on-again, off-again three-month relationships can be a real doozy. Especially when you didn’t even get the chance to hold hands (although he did put his arm across the back of your chair once. It sent that black heart aflutter.)

I don’t mean to bring your spirits even lower. I just want to tell you it’s okay that you like Hannah Montana and bright pink and that your life doesn’t really suck that much. People like you because you’re a lanky goofball who sings show tunes. Not because you have side bangs and worship Pete Wentz. So put away those black Etnies and relax. No one will judge you. In fact, I would thank you.

Still a Poser Kierstyn

P.S. Mom knows you have a Myspace.

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