Home
[Kelly]   
01:44pm 13/12/2005
  Grandma,

Even though I know your gone, I figured a letter might be the best way to communicate. I want you back. Ever since you left things have been downhill. Dad won't stop yelling, sometimes he's almost violent. Mom, well, she has a drinking problem. Mom drinks constantly, day in and day out. I just wanna get away grandma. I want it like it was when you were here. When nobody would yell because they respected your household. When I could run into your bedroom because I had a nightmare. I just want everything to be like it was. I'm fighting a downhill battle. Gimme me a sign grandma. Please!

Your Loving granddaughter,

Kelly		  
     Read 1 - Post
 
[kelly]   
07:43pm 05/08/2005
  Steven,

So I guess this is actually it. Our last few days. I remember, I remember everything. I remember walking into a dust filled classroom the first day of school, trying to find a seat as close to you as I possibly could. Maybe, just maybe you would've asked to use my eraser. I remember the times when I sat on the phone with you for hours upon hours talking about absolutely nothing at all, and I was perfectly content with that. I remember sitting on a park bench staring into your eyes as you told me that you loved me, that you would never leave me, that you would never hurt me again. The what-ifs and I wonders aren't enough enough for me. I want to live it Steven. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. I hope your happy where ever you find yourself in life. I hope someone will love you as much as I have. I hope you can find your purpose and yourself.

I love you with all of my heart,
Kelly		  
     Read 1 - Post
 
[a letter to an old family friend]   
01:23pm 28/07/2005
  Ramona,

Life has been strange, strange, strange. Horrible, in fact (though horrible's a big word to pile on to an e-mail). No need for details or anything, just a statement of fact. I'm trying to get enrolled in UWF again, and the job hunt isn't going so well for me. (oh yeah, I lost my job, because someone changed my shift and didn't tell me, so I got fired).

Guiding emotional rollercoasters with logic have never been my strong point. A whole, whole lot has gone on that I haven't been able to divulge, but to simmer things down, I made a series of mistakes with a boy due to a tragedy of my own and dumbness on my part that led to a downpour of misery, and he showed not so good colors, but I don't care because of my affections, and because he had every right, and because we're all human. And while he speaks of absolute nevers and how things will be okay for me and how I will be rich in life and love, just not with him, I have been reduced to sharpie declarations of unending devotion on the tables at the venues he frequents, and pained instant message conversations that leave me in tears.

But life is not all bad. I still hold out hope for him and I, silly as it may be, and I still have warmth in my heart knowing that somewhere out there, he's still alive. I have a few good friends that make living bearable, and sometimes even okay. I've cried a lot, screamed a lot, shrieked and wanted to die from the pain, and they've seen it all, yet they are still here. Without them, and without my hope for redemption, I don't think I would be able to make it.

I'm sure this isn't what you wanted to read in your emails, but I've never been good at small talk (infact, I'm horrible at it and feel like smalltalk is the bane of my existence), and it's been a while since we've spoken. So there's the short story, lady. I miss you a whole lot, I miss your teal guitar and hanging out by your pool at night, taking on the world. A lot's changed since we last spoke. I think the girl you knew is a woman, now -- damaged if not broken, but still living, and still holding on to hope.

Sasha		  
     Post
 
[sasha]   
12:25pm 19/07/2005
  Ara,

You come on like a hard-hitting monologue sent over loudspeakers on the lawns of falling nations, and sometimes I wonder if all that passion is sincere. Honestly, now, when a man's standing on the edge of a roof, shoes hanging over the gutter, and you're ten stories down with a megaphone, are you really going to be sincere? Of course not. Even a stranger would profess love, remind the poor confused man that he's got a world to live for, and if he comes down it'll all be okay.

Little does that man know, when he comes down to that siren's arms, there are men in white coats eager to administer chemical restraints for his own good, and an army of counselors quick to dish out diagnosis -- bipolar, MPD, schizophrenic. When really, maybe no one ever thought that perhaps the man just liked the view. Perhaps he wasn't going to jump at all. Perhaps he was singing up there, singing his heart out for his love of the world, and only went on the roof to share his song with the clouds.

My lady, uncurl your fingers from their knots. Tone your voice down a notch. Stop screaming for love, stop assaulting all those poor boys who don't even know your name, stop trying to pry affections out of boys with a crowbar. You can't beat love into submission, darling, or startle it into compliance. Love's gonna do what love's gonna do, and it really doesn't give a damn whether you've got a gun or a rosary. Let those boys dangle off the roof -- don't expect to save them, or fix them. They never asked you to be their savior, and chances are, they're perfectly fine just the way they are.

Feet over the gutter,
Joseph		  
     Post
 
   
07:01pm 30/06/2005
  Dear Everyone,

I stumbled upon life sometime today, between waking and sleep, when the afternoon sun burned in through the windows. There was sweat on my brow, the stale, sweet smell of marijuana permeated my state, arousing me to the sounds of muffled laughter, or maybe I was still exiling myself from my dreams. Who’s to say? Morning was a drowsy maze of wanting to move and go, but feeling compelled to remain incapacitated on the couch.
I came upon a wall, on one side was a river, on the other, a forest. If I go to the forest side, I’ll forever have shelter and clean air. If I go to the river side, I’ll have fresh fish and water. Each of these only half a paradise, separated by a long, brick wall.
I’ll move. I’ll take to the night air as a moth. Scrape my feet against the asphalt streets, feeling everything. The wind, the insect wings beating on my cheeks, and the night closing in. Maybe I’ll find a river by some trees and take a moment to reflect, perhaps not.
In any case, whatever should happen, you are in my heart.		  
     Post
 
[kelly]   
01:25pm 23/06/2005
  Mom,

I'm sorry for the troubles I have caused to this household and to the world. I'm sorry for being myself and striving for what I want and believe in. I can't help but to sit back in a situation like this and think how things would have been if I really did die in the accident. If you saw me lying on the cold pavement taking my last breath. Is that what it would take for you to realize I am only human? That I do make mistakes. That I can't be fucking perfect. I'm not four anymore. I can't just hop on daddys lap and hope things get better. You, both of you, need to realize that I am my own person. I can't be anything more, or anything less. I absloutly refuse to change myself for people who see no good in me in the first place. So my parting words. FUCK YOU. Fuck what you did to me, and fuck how your living your life. I can't deal with it anymore.

Daddys little girl,
Kristian		  
     Read 1 - Post
 
(sasha)   
10:33pm 22/06/2005
  Delilah,

I know that is not your name, but it is the only one I can attribute to you. I, Samson, hands at your feet and awaiting judgment. I've sweat blood and tears to stand here, to bear witness to you what tragedy means. To show, through the only medium left to me, what desperation looks like. To explode.

Words run dry, but know that here, in the place where even the slightest transgression resonates with the voices of apocalypse, I stand unaffected. Know that every blow, every wasted moment left to fizzle as you lock the door, every question and confession never said rests here, in my palms. Its roots are deep in me, somewhere between helplessness and devotion, between elation and destitution, between giving it all and trembling in fear, it stands, resilient.

Know that these blows will not defeat me. Know that I've got time, and lack of reason, on my side. Know that I'm the army of all you cannot admit you need, pushing headstrong and helplessly into your arms.

With all that I am and ever will be
(taking a name that is only mine in metaphor),
Samson		  
     Post
 
  auxillium
 
 

Advertisement