If I could talk to myself at the age of five,

that terrified little boy, who just watched his baby sister die,

I would hold his hand as he grew past six and seven

and tell him never to lose his faith

as he searched for her up in the heavens.

If I could talk to myself at the age of twelve,

that isolated adolescent, who felt ashamed and overwhelmed,

I would hug him tightly as he described

all the taunts from the other boys,

and I'd buy him his first guitar

so he had a way to drown out all the noise.

Because with anything

that I could say to them

at any point in time,

I would pass along the message

that it's okay to not be fine.

That it's okay to fall down

face first in the dirt,

but it's important to feel

even when things hurt.

If I could talk to myself at the age of eighteen,

that kid who never quite felt the love

that a growing boy so badly needs,

I'd tell him not to care about the money

that everybody else seemed to have,

and I would hand him my cell phone

so he could finally call his dad.

If I could talk to myself at the age of twenty three,

that struggling singer feeling his first brush with humility,

I would warn him not to numb himself

by finding solace in a bottle.

Because, before long, his addiction would take hold

aggressive and full throttle.

Because with anything

that I could say to them

at any point in time,

I would pass along the message

that it's okay to not be fine.

That it's okay to fall down

face first in the dirt,

but it's important to feel

even when things hurt.

If I could talk to myself at the age of twenty nine,

that hollowed out man

who'd long since lost control of his life,

I would grab him by his shoulders,

shake as hard as I could,

pleading with him desperately

to get the help that he should.

Because with anything

that I could say to them

at any point in time,

I would pass along the message

that it's okay to not be fine.

That it's okay to fall down

face first in the dirt,

but it's important to feel

even when things hurt.