Hi friend,

It feels like forever since I’ve done this. Talked to someone. Told them everything about me. I hope you don’t mind. I come from a sleepy little town in Texas where nothing ever happens and nothing ever will. My hobbies are writing, sleeping listening to rock music, and writing in a diary but I’ve never completely gottne through one. That’s why I write letters. I write letters to people I’ve never met. I’ve written letters to Fadel, the old man who walks up and down the street. But he never got back to me. . 

In my free time I write poems. Some about myself. Some things I don’t want to talk about. Things I can’t talk about. Things I have to write about. Things like my heart, and my opinions that no one wants to hear about. I’ll tell you. You have time. You’re not going anywhere. 

Poem #1: 

You want to

Tell everyone the history

The chapters 

Of organ colonialism

The diffusion of blood

The history of the vestigials

The hidden tombs

Of your DNA

The secret

Behind the scar

The enigma of your being

Which only you know 

The answer too

You try to write it down

But words can’t suffice

It’s more than that

You know? 

It’s not just

Something

You write down

On paper

Hoping others understand

You have to explain

But

You can’t tell anyone

It’s personal

Your parents tell you

It’s not yours to share

But

It’s part of you

Living inside

Breathing and punching

Short of breath

Inhaler

Small heart

Fissures

And a valve

Made of tissue

Prosthetic in the most natural way possible

Did you like that? Don’t lie. I would know if you’re lying, just by the way your handwriting twitches and folds in your next letter. Thank you for letting me know what you think. I know the poem is complicated. That’s how poems work. They’re hard to understand. On purpose. I have a scar on my chest. Stitches. From surgery. These are the things I can’t talk about. Not out loud. It’s not because I don’t want to, it’s because if people find out I feel like they’ll treat me differently. More different. They’ll treat me like I’m weaker, not able to do things, smaller, make me feel suffocatingly nonexistent. I know you won’t do that. You haven’t even met me. And you never will. 

Poem #2: 

All these doctors

Have names

You’ve heard at least a million times

Specialists

Who specialize

In special things

Like you

Your eyes

Which can’t see

Further than five feet

Your ears

Which get blocked

By sinus

Your nose

Which gets clogged

Like a plunger

Dunked into the pot

Your body

With weak lungs

Strange heart

Interesting to listen to

Doctors say

Sounds strange

Like a wounded bird

With a hurt wing

Radiologists

Check your heart

Gray clouds appear on their screen

As they move around a large pen

With gel at one end

Scanning your chest

Sometimes

You wish

You could wake up

Like it was all a dream

Sometimes, friend, I wish it would end. I wish I could get up without it being a big deal. You know how that feels? I know everyone has secrets to keep and burdens to bear but sometimes I think each of us forget that, and focus on our own. It’s not a great thing but we’re humans. And this happens to humans. We get overwhelmed and intertwined with ourselves. And we are trapped in our thoughts, feelings and emotions. That’s why I write. Poems and letters. So I can vent in a way which no one can hear or see. Except you. But I guess we’ll never meet. 

Poem #3:

You envy

Admire

And scoff at

The same people

The people

Who stand up on the podium

And tell everyone

What they’re going through

Large screens

Next to them

Enlarging their words

And features

Everything about them

Seems flawless

Because of their flaws

For you?
People just don't know what’s wrong

Why you do things

Why you’re so constricted

When they stand up

And tell others

What they’re going through 

And all of a sudden

Yours

Don’t seem important to you

Don’t worry

As a first person

Going through it 

Before others nod to you

Is hard

When others stand up the podium

They make things

You always went through

Sound insignificant

You cringe

But inside your heart plummets

What are you going through?

Another thing you need to know, friend, is I have low confidence. I undermine myself. I shouldn’t, I know. But sometimes we feel overwhelmed with ourselves, and sometimes we think the whole world out there is better. Stronger. Faster. Happier. Smarter. Not us. We pretend we can’t compare. We humans can’t compare very well. All we do is feel sad. Sometimes we need a place to pour out ourselves. Our secrets, our thoughts, our feelings, our emptiness and our joys. For me, that’s you friend. So thank you for being there for me. Even though you are a part of me and I know you’ll never really write back. You’ll just join the others in the trash. Wadded up. Crumpled. Forgotten. 

Hope you get recycled,

Monica