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Dear English

My letter to you

By Gal MuxPublished about a year ago Updated about a year ago 3 min read
Dear English
Photo by freestocks on Unsplash

Dear English,

It’s two in the morning. And I’m wondering if it’s too late or too early to write this letter. Maybe the latter. Or should I write it later?

I lay here bare it’s not a lie, like a bear with nothing to hear thinking through tough thoughts. That I have to bear.

It’s quite quiet. And though two toes hurt and my heart too, I will not quit.

My father bought these four pens for me at the stationery shop that’s further down the road where the cars lay stationary. The caps are loose but I’ll try not to lose them.

He is a principal at the school that’s next to the shop. He says it’s cool. His principle is write right even when it’s tight whether the weather is rain or shine. That’s the advice he will advise often. He will also make me read through words I’ve read. My face goes nearly red.

It feels Iike a debt even though he says it’s even when I learn. Obviously, it’s subtle.

When I want to cede he pushes me to exceed. He will not faze in any of my phase. Sometimes to my face he will foul even though I am his fowl. When he gives me counsel it feels like a council.

With every breath, he wants to discern that I can go through you decent without descent. He demands that I forward every foreword. Oh sometimes I cannot breathe cannot catch a breath. It’s bleak when he will not give me a break. Many times I want to flee like one covered in flea but he will often envelop me like an envelope.

I don’t know whether he will assent to my words, even though he likes it when I ascent. It’s a complement to my efforts when he gives me a compliment though.

To be honest, sometimes I feel like a lost soul stumbling my way through a desert sole. That’s why I write trying to feel right and light. When I write usually I’m having dessert to feel better, even though I desert it midway when it feels like it’s getting bitter.

I don’t know what sentiment I elicit so far because I don’t want to say anything illicit. I would hope that my letter has a good effect as my goal is not to affect. I wouldn’t want to be an ass. Many times I try to be discreet as I write because sometimes it’s hard to discrete what I am allowed to say aloud.

Father can make it further worse when I learn. But I understand his stand. We had to immigrate even though I had no plans to emigrate here.

But you’re tough dough though dear English. That’s true. Especially with your grammar. I bow to you with a bow.

You exhilarate. Even with their teaching of the capitals there when they’re at the capitols it’s tough.

But I won’t run I’ll learn. I came to you ingenuous and with constant ingenious I’ll grasp you. That’s how we will do it. All of us. We will keep navigating you. There is no moral when we lose our morale.

It’s an illusion to assume we will fill and get it perfectly right all the time even though the allusion is a nice feel.

I hope you will accept my words. That I ask, please don’t axe. Except when I get them wrong, however long that I must expect.

You’re quite a feat for sure. All four seasons. For that, we need to have strong feet to get thoroughly through you as you reign rain or shine. Throw you away through a way we cannot. Many times we can peek at the peak as we navigate you.

But we are fans dear English and it’s our will to learn. When it gets tougher we will fan to get things cooler and make it easier than then.

It is imminent that with practice when we practise we will get eminent.

I remain,

A learner of English as a foreign language

performance poetry

About the Creator

Gal Mux

Lover of all things reading & writing, 🥭 &

🍍salsas, 🍓 & vanilla ice cream, MJ & Beyoncé.

Nothing you learn is ever wasted - Berry Gordy

So learn everything you can.

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