30 June 2009

Dear Writer,

I don't know how to tell you that I am not brilliant. I am just a piece of shit like everyone else. I dont know how to let my pen whisper to your ear, "DEAR WRITER, I AM NO ONE! DEAR WRITER, I HAVE NO ASPIRATIONS TO BE SOMEONE BECAUSE BEING SOMEBODY DOESN'T MAKE YOU ANYBODY, ANYWAY!" I am nobody just like you, and we will always be nobody because the people who start thinking they're something special only think so after they sell their souls for some talent they can snort & wash down with handfuls of whoknows & cold swallows of idontcare.
(By the way, I'm sure I'll feel differently in 5 minutes.)

Dear Citydwellers,

The rain is here to wash me and my stupid sorryformyself all down the streets & into the sewers where it'll run into the rivers, seep downstream, all the way down stream, & I'll break the levee like the force of nature hurricane that they all call me to my face & make the whole nation cry with me over second chances & reconstruction & floods that keep on coming & coming that are unstoppable, rising up over everyone's stupid sorryforthemself skulls & grabbing hold of the hearts beating in their caged chests & squeezing until there is nothing left but the hollowed, hallowed vessels that stink to high heaven with mangled mugs that can barely be called faces because everyone was so hard-pressed to get to the top, to get to the pearly gates, that no one bothered to watch where they were stepping. But don't worry about the stench, the rain will wash that away, too. We won't have to remember a thing. It's just a matter of time.

Dear World,

The air is hot and heavy, I can feel it pressing down on my lungs but I am not afraid. The sky is dark like it's ready to explode into thunder & lightning, and I hope a bomb goes off somewhere soon because all of this lack of fear has kind of got my hopes. Don't you see? Can't you feel it? In my best sweat-stained dress with a fresh pair of nothing on underneath, like the prettiest whore in town, who is still nothing but a no-good fucking whore, I'm ready to go. I think maybe I've been ready since the day I was born.

I don't want to love anyone, and I expect everyone to love me.
I guess we'll see how this works out. 

The dead girl on the movie who was alcoholic-unloved-upclose-in-real-life said to me though the screen in black & white: "I've always wanted everyone to love me, and now I love someone and it's so easy."
I want to believe her.
I wish I believed in black & white or love or anything at all.
I wish anything was that easy.

Dear Fokkusu Makuraudo,

I want you to come here and make everything okay, but I have no reason to believe that you will do that...So I am counting down these last two hours until you are free to go, just to count something, just to have some sense of time. I know that you are going to come here and not see me like I want. I already know I need too much. I'm sorry.
I want to invest myself in something before I destroy myself because I can only keep from picking at my imperfections and pulling myself apart when I am attempting to unravel someone else, but then once I do I have to move on. I would like to set to work on your so that I don't kill myself accidentally, but I can't see how it would be worth anything.

I am always betrayed & betraying & sick & stupid & seldom sorry, but beautiful & ready to fuck at any given moment, even when I want to disappear or die, even right now.
I am different but the same. I'm always changing but not seriously. You'll understand if you want to.
My teeth look clean when they are not. I chew a lot of gum. Drink a lot of water, never alcohol. Sometimes I don't need to eat because I am too good for food, but I am never too good for water. Sometimes I don't deserve anything and feel sick to my stomach.
I get away with a lot of tricks, some dirty, some clean. I am always very amused at my own cleverness after this happens.
When I'm quiet I am either soft & sad or very mean & trying to keep it secret.
I make plans in my head and forget that the people I love don't know how to read my mind. I get mad, especially when I'm tired, when I realize that they still don't know how to read my thoughts. They will probably never know.
I like to wonder if I know what love is. I think about love more than I think about God. I think about dying a lot, too. I think about the past and the future when I have to, which is more than I would like to.

I know that you're not going to want me like I will want you to. Maybe you will fuck me, and maybe you will like fucking me and then you will keep seeing me, but why would you ever want someone like me? Why would someone ever want a fuckup like me who just needs & needs & takes? I would give everything I have, but I would take it all from you first. Things you can't get back.

I don't know what love is. I just want someone to kiss me on the head. Tell me it's okay. I really do want it to be okay.
Oh, je t'aime.
I love too much.

28 June 2009

Dear Jack-o-lantern Mouth,

Thank you for always being my friend, even when we didn't talk. I'm sorry that I probably take you for granted. 
I still think you walk on water.

20 June 2009

Dear,

You have no soul. That's what I loved about you for awhile, but I don't love you anymore. Goodbye.

14 June 2009

Dear Cousin Who is Not Really my Cousin,

I am sorry for making the dogs bark.

I am sorry for never saying "sorry" when you deserve it.

I am sorry for being such a bitch when you are just trying to help.

Dear Girl at the Store,

I wish that you would wipe that terrible look off of your face. 

Why is it that sometimes when you know someone and you see that person you don't acknowledge that you know her at all, even though you recognize her, even though it is unmistakable who you are talking to, even though there was never an ugly thing between the two of you that should make you want to be strangers? Why is that? I'm guilty of it, too; I was just wondering if you had an answer because I'm struggling to find one. 

I swear I don't hate you even though you kept on scowling and looking disgusted, maybe shocked at my presence. Were you under the impression that I was dead and never coming back?

I just don't know sometimes.

11 June 2009

Dear Nobody in Particular,

I don't need you. I don't need you. I don't need you. I never needed you.
I don't need anyone.
People are dispensable.
Fuck up, crumple 'em up, & start again on someone fresh.
People are fucking DISPENSABLE.

I will puke all over this couch right now & get up & crawl away just to prove to you how much you never meant to me.

I have youth & I have health & I have heart, god do I have heart, & I've got beauty and brains & I've almost got sanity, & I'm pretty sure almost counts for something, it's more than some people got, & I got the clothes on my back & the shoes on my feet & I got the feet inside the shoes that will walk me wherever the fuck I wanna be & that means I got FREEDOM. I don't have money, but I've still got my soul, which is better than most people. I got 2 Parliaments, 6 cigarillos, & 2 exotic cigars & I don't even smoke. 
I may as well have it all, honey.

Dear Someone in Particular,

There's an ache in the right-hand corner of my mouth reminding me that even when I sleep, I'm thinking of you.

Dear Relentless Optimist,

I feel like a liar because really, I hope I die before I get old. I hope I die soon.
This has been long enough of this life for me.
My mouth, my fingers say something's gotta turn out right, but when I get hold of a pen I start using it to chip away at my own skull in order to unearth my unbridled belief that everyone may as well drop dead right now because life is the same piece of shit story skipping like a goddamn scratched record & you won't get a moment of peace until you die.

Dear Boy I Know By Heart,

Hello?
It's me. My car is dead & my phone is gone, too. It's getting dark, it's always getting dark, & all of the doors to the buildings are locked.
Yours is the only number I have memorized.
Yours is the only number I know by heart.
You're still the only one I know by heart.
You are the only one that I have to call when everything dies. I'm sorry for bothering you every time everything dies. It's still all I know.
I know I've said it before, but I just wanted to apologize again about last time.
...I'll understand if you don't come running.
I get it.
It's fine.
It's just, I'm all out of change, too.

Dear Girl,

You have betrayed me.
...For what reason?

Now I have done the same to you. I am not sorry. Do not be angry, it would only make you hypocritical, & no one likes that.
Bad character.
I'm one to talk, right?

I'll always love you, though.
Always.

To Whom It May Concern:

I got butterflies in my stomach when we kissed. I cannot think of another time when this has happened.
The rest just made me sick.
I don't want to forget or remember. I guess I never thought it would hurt; I never thought it would mean the most to me.
I can't tell you this because what I'm trying not to say is that I'm in love with you, & it's going to ruin everything. We are young & stupid; I'm already sorry.
I am trying to act cavalier, and I'm doing a terrible fuckup job so far. Maybe I should disappear. 
Do you think absence really makes the heart grow fonder? I really wish it did, but somehow I don't think we'll ever know what love is.

Dear Friend,

I would puke all over your shoes if I had the guts, but instead I'll probably just curl up & fall asleep.
I only wanted you to notice.

10 June 2009

Unrequited Everything

I have created this blog solely because of the large number of letters I have been writing lately that I will never deliver to the people that they were intended for.