You complain that I don’t tell you anything.
I’m a secret and a mystery to you.
You’re my daughter, you say.
Everything should show plainly on my face
and my heart needs to be planted squarely on my sleeve.
Well, I’m sorry.
I’m sorry that I need to prove to you I’m worth it.
I’m sorry that I don’t trust telling you anything
because I’m afraid you’ll squash
my moments of happiness.
I’m sorry I could never be
who you wanted me to be.
But you never saw me for who I was.
You never accepted me just as I am.
“You need to be better.
You need to be thinner.
You can’t sing for the rest of your life, it’s not a living.
You can’t
You’re not
You are forbidden.
We always thought you’d get C’s in school.
What’s that on your face?
Let me pick at you,
because I can’t stand to see any blemishes.
(Never mind you’re a teenage girl,
that blackhead has got to go.)”
And you wonder why I don’t go home much anymore.
I think the things that hurts the most
is that you didn’t have high expectations for me.
You didn’t push me to be the best that I could be,
you pushed me to be who you thought I should be.
But now, I’m someone who you don’t recognize.
Because I realized the most important thing:
I can’t be anyone
but myself.
P.S.-I had a 4.0 this semester.
So much for the C’s.

The world was born of steely gray
An utter blending of the shades
Of miserable black and righteous white
Indicating wrong and right.

Or is it white whose hue condemns
And black from which the conscience stems?

Never matter, our impartial domain
Favors neither of its veins
Confounding at its very core
The moral and amoral score.

Yours Truly
Loving You Avenue
Kissime, Missmeana
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Dear Love of my Life,
You do not know me yet but, I am the love of your life and you are mine. Try not to over look me if we ever meet. Pick me out the crowd of beautiful women you see from where ever we meet, whether it be in public, private, or through a computer screen. Oh yea, and try your best to judge me by my personality. Look past the color of my skin for it may interfere with your better judgement of me. For all you know I could be white, purple, or mahogany. Once, we are together theres somethings you should remember. One is that I won’t completely hate you if you forget our anniversary. I’ll only pretend to so we can feel like a sitcom family. Second, my favorite flower is the lotus but I’ll settle for roses as long as they are never red, I prefer white or black instead.Third, don’t be what you think I expect you to be because I really love spontaneity. So don’t be surprised if for vacation I’d like to go skydiving, bungee jumping, or skiing. By the way I have of list of things I’d like to do before I died and those activities are numbers one, two, and three. Promise to never lie to me unless you are trying to protect me. Yes, I know honesty's the best policy but a little white lie never hurt anybody. I hate to be told what to do unless of course it is by you. So I guess I’ll be fair and not give you too many rules. This last one is a request of you for me, Spontaneously tell me you love me.
Sincerely yours,
The Love of your Life

If time is a convincing illusion, then as I am writing this,
you are reading it; you are remembering me years after
we have spoken last, and I am noticing you for the first time.

I'm a young woman waking up in an apartment in Albany,
New York, realizing that I am finally broken enough to fix,
and an East Boston moppet in ***** pink overalls, riding
Big Wheels through the sprinklers with a boy named John Henry.

You're delivering newspapers on a cold New Hampshire morning.
I am falling asleep wondering if you could possibly love me.
You are saying that you do. You are stardust, and I am long gone.