I want to be touched with good intention, trying too hard to make you not want me. Not putting forth effort into being easy to understand, saying things like “I want to be heartless” without explaining that I just want to give all of myself away. I am altruistic in my absence, appealing to my need to appease people. It is easier to now make you angry than to later make you sad. It is better to to have no hook at the end of a line than to have to rip it from you when it is time to let go – instead just giving you the freedom to fall when you want. It is a graceless dance between grateful people, understanding although we may not move well we at least can move. Although words come out abrasive and thoughts may be ugly it is guarded by intention and I like it when you massage my head.

Dear Jamoi

I thought you didn’t love me even though we were bestfriends. Even now sometimes I question it but that’s my fault not yours. I love you more than anyone and I would give you my own life if it could make you happy. I have nothing more to say thank thank you for letting me be a part of your family. Thank you for being there. Thank you for letting me be there. Thank you for breaking down doors, sobbing on floors, and climbing on roofs. Thank you for some of the best memories of my entire life. Thank you for Mangulian, and Moulin Rouge and Hannah Montana and Mall Tycoon. Thank you for teaching me we’re both beautiful. Thank you for coming to the hospital. Thank you for letting me be the one you call when you’re sad or drunk or both. Thank you for your thumb print and for letting me be angry people always call you the pretty friend. Thank you for saying “I think they’re going to kiss” because otherwise we might have and that all could have been a lot worse. Thank you for being the only one who thought it was funny they found my underwear in the closet because I think it’s hilarious too. Thank you for being the kind of person who’s also okay with not talking every day. You ain’t no crocodile so you can’t take my charm away.

Loooooooooooove, forry

Dear N

Even though you’re hostile and closer off you’re a decent guy over all. You’re not particularly nice, or even funny. But you have a nice smile sometimes, although your excused are wear and it doesn’t make what you did right. I can’t enjoy what I don’t remember, your first sign that it wasn’t okay should have been when I was puking in your bathroom. “Take care of her” didn’t mean sexually and you knew that. You will never understand the shame I felt walking home and having to tell my sister what happened – at this point waking up naked in your bed was all I knew. The humiliation I suffered having to go back to your house and ask if you used protection is incomparable and I hope it is never replicated – on your part or mine. No amount of running can shrink me down to be as small as a part of me will always feel and yes I have tried. You probably still think that what you did wasn’t that bad (especially because I drove home with you after catering but really I just wanted to stay for the band) but it was. I don’t hate you though. I’m just sick enough to hope that you hate yourself and no amount of alcohol could make me puke that out. You gave a good hug, but made a bad decision. “Gin makes me horny.” Then go fuck yourself. We’re both lucky I’m not pregnant.

Sincerely, waking-me-up-doesn’t-mean-I-wasn’t-passed-out

P.S. I still don’t remember anything.

Dear Gramma

You were my bestfriend for a very long time. You make the best macaroni that has ever graced my mouth. I think you wish I could be more like Hannah. I think you wish I would put more energy into being nice than to being honest. I used to want to be just like you. But the truth is you’re not what I want to be at all. I get compliments on your scarves and hats every time I wear them, but I still wish you could make a cardigan. I wish you could properly see my photography. And face. I know you wish you could too. You always give the best presents – except you’re really bad at picking out PJ’s but it’s okay. I’m sorry I stopped letting you hug me. It’s not your fault. I hope you make soups with the vitamix and have made friends in your knitting group. I wish you stuck with losing weight just to say you did it and so that you would get high with me and not be afraid of the munchies. But you got drunk with me and that was pretty cool too. The first time I ever tried vodka was at 1AM on the lake from your cupboard. It didn’t taste like death then. Plump looks good on you. I’m sorry I didn’t have more patience with you, I’m sorry I couldn’t listen when you spoke with nothing to say. I crave your food at least once a week. I’m sorry for you that you didn’t have the courage to stay behind and that it took me so long to realize it took a different kind of courage to leave at all. I know I should call you more, but your voice sounds different. I know I should e-mail you more, too. I know it was wrong of me to tell you I was mailing you art when I have no intention of doing that. Maybe I will now though. I’m just not that big on presents but I think that necklace was the best gift I ever gave and even though I don’t want to be you anymore don’t take it personally because I don’t want to be anyone else, either. For a few weeks – or months – I thought you were weak. In everyones own way we are. But you aren’t – not in the way I thought. I’m sorry for that. I’ve realized it takes a certain amount of resolve and determination to go through what you did and to put up with what you have. It seems to be a recurring thing in our family but I believe we still all deserve recognition for it. I know you can run and I wish you did. You were and are a great mom. I’m sorry if it feels like I’m forgetting you. I’m sorry for crying at you in Wal-Mart. I’m sorry I puked on the bus when I was 6. Thank you for keeping all of my shit over the years, and for putting up with it as well. Thank you for all the disposable pictures and couch beds. I love you like I’ve never loved anyone else. I hope you know that. I hope it’s the last thing you forget.

xoxo, puddin’ pie

Dear Greenpa

I still haven’t decided if you’re fucking crazy or fucking genius. Probably a 60/40 mix going both ways depending on the day. You’re an excellent driver as far as skill goes, but just terrible as far as comfort. Stop giving me your opinion when I don’t want it. The best thing you ever gave me – although you may believe different – is “Little Broken Hearts” and good weed. Thank you for letting me be the one you love because you want to and not because you have to. Thank you for your brutal honesty, the bike rides, the electronics, and for shutting up that one time we were sitting by the river listening to the water. The two worst things you ever did was tell me you were concerned I had a higher tendency for sexual deviancy because of my father leaving, and rag on me about my religiously healthy eating habits which were my compromise to an eating disorder no one knew I had. But I forgive you. I’ve still never told anyone what you told me. I miss you, and I wish you had taught me to drive. I don’t remember half the things you’ve ever tried to teach me but I appreciate you for trying. Some of the best moments of my life were spent with you, and about 1/3 of those were spent on the handle bars of your bike. I’m happy you didn’t always make me wear a helmet. I miss getting high with you. You are wrong about the nutritional value of your stew. I love spinach and will eat as much of it as I was as long as you are eating as many pastries as you want. I’m sorry I didn’t watch my oatmeal more closely while it was in the microwave. I think you have an eating disorder. I like that we take our coffee the same. I’m sorry we don’t have more pictures together, but god damn all the ones we have are good. I love your hands. And tomatoes. Don’t die before I see you again. Stop trying to fix your own bike.


Dear Grey

You are a trooper. You are strength, courage, perseverance, resolve, and a kind of patience  I hope to one day know. I am sorry. I am sorry for hitting you harder than in a sibling rivalry kind of way, for squirting juice in your face, and for being mad at you for getting the attention you needed. I’m sorry everyone made you feel so fucked up when really you are just human. And phenomenal. You are so amazing. I love you so much. I am so proud of you. I’m sorry I cried when you broke your nose and that you apologized to me for making me sad. You didn’t make me sad I just wish I could have been there to protect you. The best decision I ever made was following you to NJ. And even though it was a big decisions, even though it changed everything – it was easy. You always came first. I will always clean up your LEGO for you. I will always be here to get high. I will always forgive you. Never forget your intelligence. You will make brilliant things one day. Everyone makes mistakes. You are just as human as the rest of us. I would die for you. Finish school.

P.S. I finally understand why you always wanted to be Blue.

forever fucker, sistar*

Dear U

You probably don’t know who you are. You actually probably have no idea. All I wanted was to keep my friend from a bad reputation so I got one instead. Your stupid friends called your stupid name after me in the halls for months. That was the worst year of my life already, but that was just another reminder. I don’t hate you. You don’t deserve the resources  it takes to truly hate someone. I have scares on my knees from the cuts of the gravel of the parking lot you made me get on them in. My tights tore and everyone knew what I did. It was 2 years until I did it again. I will never forget the shame I felt. I said no. I was wearing a skirt and I said no. My voice speaks for me not my clothing. Years later I warned my friend about you and she ignored me. You showed your friends a video of her doing the same thing you made me do. I’m not friends with her anymore. I hope you’re not either. Thanks for not being bad enough to give me nightmares, but fuck you for making me believe it was my fault. Fuck you for letting it be okay that my friends believe I asked for it – that I had it coming. I don’t forgive you, but I forgive myself.

Suck My Dick, St. Patty’s Day 2011

Dear Dad

Those first 9 years or so were great. You came to school with me, you introduced me to one of my favourite escapes. I don’t hate you – I don’t have the energy for that. I don’t know if I love you either though. At least not in the way I should. But I think I must otherwise I wouldn’t care that the thought of you makes me sad. But sometimes it is just because you are sad. Not emotionally – but maybe – just as a person. You shouldn’t take it personally that I don’t want to hug you – or maybe you should. The lines are a little blurred on this one. Either way, it makes me uncomfortable. I wish you didn’t cry when you first saw me because it made me feel bad that I was only happy to be there. I hate it when you cry, it makes me want to vomit. After all, you were the one I wasted a lifetime of tears on when it was supposed to be other boys breaking my heart. So I guess I just don’t understand how you still have so much of one thing you gave me unconditionally. I think it’s cool that you look like Jesus because it made me realize there is no god. My morals are my religion. I can’t remember if they’re simple or not, I haven’t needed them for a while. You are flakey, needy, judgemental, moody, depressing, and disappointing. But easy to talk to and fun to watch T.V. with. Your skill set impresses me, and your money probably would too if you actually ever paid for child support. But you pay my phone bill and I guess even that’s something to be grateful for every time I get a text from a boy I like. I wish you would put up some of those pictures you took of me and I think it’s stupid that you only ate hummus and pita for 6 months (was it 6 months?). You are dumb and wrong because that is not healthy for you as a meal every day. Don’t ask for my advice – I’ll probably give you the wrong one just to spite you. Maybe not even intentionally or all the time. But every once in a while because I like to be unpredictable. True Blood is a great show so thanks for that. And the smoothies. I enjoyed our Sunday brunches but more for the food than your company and I’m sorry you think it’s a bad thing I remind you of mom when I get hungry. I don’t like Queens of The Stone Age. You have a gut that is disproportionate to your lanky frame which angers me irrationally. I wish you could have stayed. I wish you didn’t tell me I should ride the seated bike while watching T.V. when I was 8 because I was gaining weight. I’ve had body issues ever since and you had no idea. I’m happy you were adamant we played video games because I still love Zelda although I no longer have the patience to play them. Thank you for half of my genes because I get complimented every day. And in a way thanks for leaving, because the “daddy issues” complex is one that I’m okay working with. You shouldn’t have come back but kudos to you for trying. You won’t walk me down the aisle at my wedding. I’ll invite you but I doubt you’ll attend. I think I forgive you. It should be easier to hate you – but I know you hate yourself enough. And I’m sorry because that’s an awful thing to live with. Good luck, good riddance, thanks for all the fish.

xo (k)(hugs), princess

Dear Mom

Contrary to popular belief (or maybe just yours) I don’t hate you. I actually love you quite a lot. It’s just that I don’t always like you very much. You are loud, obnoxious, presumptuous, hard to live with, hard to talk to, difficult to relate to. You are very accepting while equally judgemental; hypocritical, messy, unorganized, and dedicated. You are a fighter, a lover, a believer, and an enthusiast. You have a special kind of creative genius while still holding onto your own brand of simplistic madness. You are everything on the scale of 1 to patient, as well as defensive, over-and-under protective, and have more resolve and perseverance than anyone I know. I hate it when you cry – but not because it makes me sad. It just makes me uncomfortable. I wish you would stop taking it personally when I don’t want to be touched and I wish you would get high with me more often. You are a terrible drunk in that you often surpass friendly and funny to go straight to mean and obnoxious. There are many time I would have felt less resentment towards you if you had just had a little less wine. But I want to do a lot of tequila shots with you. Stop painting your fingernails – we both know you’ll take it off within 24 hours. You still bring me coffee in the morning because I don’t have the heart to tell you I’m detoxing form it and just pour it down the sink after I tell you I really enjoyed it. I know it’s a waste but it’s the only thing you do to show me you care that doesn’t aggravate me and for that I’m sorry. You’re terrible at compromise but then again so am I so for that I’m sorry too. That doesn’t make it okay though – for either of us. Stop commenting on what I wear because every time I change my clothes I regret it and I’ll listen to you because you’re my mom and you know best – except when it comes to my closet sometimes you probably don’t. I always wanted to be as pretty as you were when you were young and I think I’ve made it so thank you for half of my genes. Thank you for standing by my even when I was wrong, and for apologizing when you didn’t when I was right. I’ll probably never forgive you for having me so young (if that is something to forgive someone for) but not because you haven’t raised me well. It’s because in you still needing youthful experiences I lost a lot of mine. But thank you for that also, my maturity has brought me far. You are selfless, majestic, and inspirational. Keep changing and stop trying to change everyone around you. Remember I am not your therapist. My life would have been a lot less stressful if you didn’t tell me all – or even some – of your problems. You’ve done well. I hope you’re happy. Or getting there. Stick with it.

Chortlechortlechortle, Pants