Letters To My Subjects

Hello, readers. It is 4:28 as I am writing this, unlike the typical hours of the night I usually write in. I’ve just had an awful day, but I’ve come home with a silver medal and two honorable mentions for my poetry under my belt. Here’s why it means so much to not only me, but the people I wrote the poems about.

To the boy I wrote the Pixelated Boy about,

I forgive you. And I know that sounds weird if you’ve read the poem. I sure hope you have, but I know your dim witted intelligence probably didn’t understand any of it. That kind of makes me happy, like it’s a secret message you’ll never truly know, but at the same time I want you to know. What you did was bad, and I know you’ll never come to that realization because although your body might be small, your head is the size of Jupiter. And it’s so far in space it won’t even come back down to Earth. But now a lot of people know about you, whether they know your identity or not. People’s guts have wrenched while reading my depiction of you. You. Some have related, probably on much greater scales than I’d like to think about. But it gives me all the peace in the world now to know that my voice was heard. For the months no one believed me and all the times you called me crazy. For every time you told me I was nothing. For the fact that still to this day you say my name and build up a reputation even though you have left my life. For the night when you messaged me and wouldn’t stop until I heard what you had to say. For the shame I felt when it was your fault, not mine. This is to you.

To the boy I wrote People or Poison about,

You, my friend, are quite the opposite of Pixelated Boy. I wish things turned out a different way and we were still friends. I wish you were still here. But most of all, I wish that you didn’t have as much of an effect on me as you did. I’ve learned through you, though, to be kinder and accept the love I am offered because it soon might be gone. It felt like you had poisoned me when you left, but I am learning that those are just the pangs of growing up and apart. You are remembered and loved. The sky melts at your fingertips, boy, you just need to learn how to tell it what colors you want it to be for the day. It will always listen.

To the woman I wrote Easter about,

You figured it out, didn’t you? Maybe the first time or the second time, but now definitely. I was honest with you before you ever were honest with yourself, and for that I am sorry in a sense. It was not my place to step, but I knew I had to do it. I felt that maybe if you read my words about what I thought your situation was, you’d see it. You’d see that it was no way to live. That he was not a man, he was an animal. And I wrote about him as grotesquely as possible, I mean as… honestly as possible. I didn’t know the full situation, and I still don’t. But what I do know is that your story is sadly similar to others. That breaks my heart and I’m sure many others. Your voice was heard today. This is not about me, this is about you. You were recognized and your story was heard. And you can rest peacefully knowing that a lot of people have read this poem and have felt for you as well as hated him. You are stronger than you were before and for that, this award goes wholeheartedly to you, your son, and your daughter.

_____

The three poems I really wanted to stand out from the others were recognized today and that gives me such joy. Writing is about giving things voices in your life that might not have been heard. They were heard today, and that’s all that really matters.

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