Dear Paper

Dear Paper: Part One

Dear paper,

I’m sorry I haven’t written to you in a while,

I’ve been trying to collect my thoughts

to replenish my mind from these bad situations,

to prepare for the next step,

towards a better destination.

I keep trapping myself inside

wondering when I’ll open up to you,

when I’ll tell you how things have been.

I miss you,

I’m sorry,

I’ve been busy.

Life has been like a bat hitting a baseball,

I fly so far out in the field,

no one has the effort to go get me to play,

I’m done.

I’m gone.

I feel like a child’s outgrown toy.

People don’t check up on me anymore,

they only want to text me when they need something

from me.

They tend to crave a childish moment of joy,

they want to play,

and use their toy.

Well I’m tired.

I don’t want to play anymore.

I’ve been under this bed too long,

I don’t want to come out.

Dear paper,

My mom still texts me.

She reminds me of all my failures.

Like an alarm clock,

on the dot,

she messages me,

pleading for my help

as if she’s gasping for her last breath,

she says she needs me.

She needs my money.

Dear paper,

I saw my sister at school,

she looked me up and down,

her narrowed disapproving eyes

scoping my attire.

Same clothes for seven days,

no shower for three,

my earrings don’t match.

Instead of love,

her negative energy consumes me.

Dear paper,

I’m stuck.

Restricted by these draining thoughts,

thoughts that become my reality.

I am a bird in a cage,

there is no key to this lock.

Pitch black,

hate,

in my never ending spiral of self-judgement.

This is no home.

I have no home.

I am alone.

I am lost.

Dear paper,

I don’t know how to go on,

I feel like no one can save me.

I am on the other side of the river,

there’s no bridge to cross,

I’ve broken all the boats.

I don’t want saving.

Dear Paper: Part Two

Dear paper,

It’s been a while,

how are you?

Sometimes we forget in our own self-absorbed lives

to ask each other,

how are you?

To appreciate the little things

in everybody's individualistic beauty in disguise.

Dear paper,

how come we complain when times cause distress,

but don’t appreciate the times when we’re thriving.

We’re detrimental in our own ways,

causing our own pain,

stabbing our hearts before we even reach our backs,

blood spewing in all directions and making a mess,

doctor save me!

I don’t want to die.

Maybe I do.

Like a toddler we kick and scream,

throwing toys in the air.

A toy is lost under the bed

to be found

by its long lost friend.

Dear paper,

I don’t know what to say.

I never know what to say,

not anymore.

I seal my lips shut with glue

in hopes they’ll stick forever

so I won’t bother anyone

with these meaningless words anymore.

So no one has to hear my annoying voice anymore.

...

Dear paper,

trades have been willingly made for a bed.

Shelter is often traded for sex,

ashamed to say,

sometimes unwillingly.

Dear paper,

I’ve tried to forget that night.

I told myself it was all a dream.

I was wrong.

I should’ve gone back,

made things different,

when that boy forced his hands on my body,

I tried to wake myself up.

Up from this haze,

this nightmare,

I was trapped too far inside.

Dear paper,

I don’t mean to get so deep,

I just missed this connection.

I’ve never felt like I’ve had a true connection.

I’ve been used,

abused,

neglected,

left for dead.

I am that halfie in the puddle.

No one wants to claim me,

I don’t deteriorate,

I just sit there,

and wait

for someone to pick me up and throw me away.

I don’t have the energy to do it myself.

Dear Paper: Part Three

Dear paper,

birds often mistake a cigarette filter for candy.

He picked me up one night.

I thought he was just like the rest.

I was wrong.

Instead of breaking me down,

tossing me aside,

he built me up.

He still does,

everyday.

I did not expect this bird,

I am no candy for his eyes.

Dear paper,

he says he loves me,

my eyes,

my smile.

He says that I’m kind,

and sweet

like sugar.

I disagree.

I was not raised to be a gem.

...

Dear paper,

my brain is slowly starting to stop,

running.

Too many incomplete thoughts.

It’s all about to come to an end.

Dear paper,

I know it’s hard to listen to me sometimes,

I just need to know I’m not alone.

So hear me when I say this,

You are my best friend

and it’s been too long.

Dear paper,

I’m sorry it’s been so long,

I promise

I’ll talk to you tomorrow.