Hello! I’m Amanda, the older version of you.

I wore those same glasses, just the way you do.

The rose colored glasses, turning into the saddest shade of blue.

This isn’t forever, just trust me it’s true.

__

There’s no possible way that I am you!

I‘m only sixteen and barely coasting through.

Inside & outside, I‘ve become so battered and bruised.

You could never be me & I grow into such a woman of muse!

The man that I love, he just loves to abuse.

Lady I see the love in your eyes, I can read social queues!

The strong parts of me he locked away to keep out of my use.

At this point just lend me your smile, I’d like to use it as my noose!

He’s a life sentence & I have no way to break loose.

You move about so freely, we couldn’t have wore the same shoes!

He hits me, then yells at me for causing this bruise.

I hope you find the girl you need because I think you’re confused. We both have green eyes but yours are even slightly darker hues.

I swear I’m not trying to be rude.

__

This life that you will have one day is beautiful & running smooth.

Listen to loved ones that really matter, get away from him, what they say is the truth.

Do as I’m say, despite what you think it’s not all doomed.

You poor girl, I hate that I surrendered the days of our youth…

that’s exactly why our green eyes are now a darker hue.

#shaynabryer

I have crafted my life for you.

You said you thought my record player was cool.

I told you that my record of choice is by Simon and Garfunkel,

And it is,

Except, my record player isn't plugged in.

In fact, I think I broke it moving here.

Here, a place I moved for the light,

Remember? I showed you the view.

And you took pictures of the sunset.

Except, my curtains are drawn from morning into the night,

And my window is too dirty to see through.

I had a vision of writing at this desk under warm light, with a warm drink,

In an atmosphere that would ease all of my anxieties.

But my drink has gone cold as I write this,

As I only have two hands.

And wrappers pile on my desk with water cups, and dust.

Because my room is lived in,

By a human who has anxieties, and a pension for forgetting little things.

And I cannot sanitize me from my life forever.

And yet, for a few hours I'll let you believe in my lie.

And, when you don't see my fretful staging before your visit,

You may too think to clean yourself from your life.

And I am so sorry.

Maybe next time, I'll forget to vacuum,

So you might be in my home with me,

And then, with any hope, in yours with you.

In my house it is well known that you do not give them your name.

Should the voice call out into the night, asking its simple question. “What may I call you?” You shall remain silent. If you hear the rapping on the window followed by its small voice again “What may I call you?”, you do not answer it. When the rapping grows louder, as if many little hands are tapping in sync and then the voice asks stronger “What may I call you?”, you still do not answer, you are not even to move.

In my house it is well known that you must let them in.

The small creatures that have gathered there on the window sill, if they ask properly. The creature below the window stepping out of the forest, twisting and grinning in morbid delight. “May I ask for some hospitality?” You must let them in. The creaking and groaning of its bones and joints as it climbs the wall to the window, smiling at you through the glass. “I have come a long way for your hospitality.” the group of winged things sitting on the window sill “May we ask for some hospitality?”. They’ll lift their wings and sit all pitifully there, smiling when they see you come towards the window. “We’ve flown a long way and are now tired.” You must let them in, and you must do it graciously.

In my house it is well known that you must give them good hospitality.

Offer them proper seating and a table. Make them tea, if you’re able to make the kind they like then make that. Find and serve them snacks of their liking. Serve them well, offer them blankets if they may need it. Give them towels if they are wet, or offer a blow-dryer to air themselves. When you have served them you must engage with small talk. “How has the weather been on your journey?”, “Where do you come from?”, “How has your trip been?”, “Do you enjoy the weather here?”, “Oh yes, it's been quite lovely here lately.”. You must sit there with them at whatever table you offered them and engage with them and serve them. Be it the large creature who bends and twists with manic eyes, or the group of small winged things, you must treat them well and be a good host.

In my house it is well known that you do not tell them your name.

Even if they ask once they are seated at your table, enjoying the tea and snacks and small talk that you've offered. You still must not answer. “I am the child of this house.” I used to reply when they visited me so long ago. “I am the keeper of this house.” I speak quietly as it now suits me. “What may we call you by?” They will ask. Eyes glittering and smiles sinister as they wait for you to either answer or break your hospitality. But you must not give them your name. Should the large ink black creature twist and reach out to you with its gnarled hands you must not flinch nor answer its query. When the winged ones fly up to your shoulders and land on your nose you must not fall for their charms nor answer their queries.

In my house it is well known that you must follow the simple rules.

Do not give them your name, Let them in when they ask properly, Offer them good hospitality, and Do not give them your name. If you follow these simple well-known rules, then you will survive the Fae.