dear
mom, dear dad,

i am writing you because you
asked. and you asked so kindly, i couldn’t help but feel so –
just feel so compelled to
give you a response – to give you
just the response you
want.

right now? right now, at this moment? i am so utterly
full
of happiness and
bliss; why would you ever
doubt it? just read
this crisp little brochure – I knew the boy who
folded it; and
I know that once
upon a time he woke up a minute too
late just one time too
many and he hung his head the way
he felt was proper as
he stood in front of
them, and once
upon a time he sat at the old wooden desk –
that desk was so ancient and oh so historical that just
sitting there must’ve been an honor
within itself – he sat
at the old wooden desk and he
folded these brochures and maybe
they gave him papercuts; maybe not, maybe
he laughed as he made each and every
crease; I’ll never really
know that much, and then
the next morning his alarm didn’t go
off again and now –
now he’s gone, but it’s okay, he wasn’t meant to
be here clearly, at least that’s what they
said – but he was the only one who smiled
at me the first day – they said he wasn’t competent
for this perfect institution – but he grabbed her hands with
the softest touch and she took a
step away from the
gun – no, they said, he was just too lazy and just too
rude to be here with us all now –
but now, really, look at this brochure, it matters
more than any story about some
boy who once
graced it with his
touch; read these lengthy words and you’ll
realize that this school is more
perfect than not; did that
answer your question?

oh, no, why would you even
consider otherwise? I feel so perfectly accepted at this
haven; of course I do, how could I
not? after all, all the kids are perfect and their houses are
perfect and their cars are nice and shiny and
gold because they are just so
perfect and they do everything right;
just ask the adults, these kids are
splended just like their
salaries, and when it comes down to it
all these kids are nothing more than
paychecks – what? no – no, they are
impeccable, more than
perfect, their footprints are made of pure white
sugar, didn’t you
know? and they make me feel so
happy with myself, you know, I’ve never
locked myself in the
guest restroom and
forced my
fingers down my throat in that
same ugly
way I imagine all the
pretty girls do
strangling the pieces left of
me;
no, of course not, because i
love all the girls with their
credit cards and
expensive dresses
that make their waists just
look
so itty bitty and
of course the boys don’t
mind that my thighs
touch. I’m just so
happy with
myself, why would you ever
doubt it? – what a
silly thing for you to
say.

I know I’ll make you
proud, i can just
feel it in my bones; I’ll make you
proud of, i know it – imagine
this! I can be on the cover of that
magazine! And I can borrow someone’s coat and
borrow someone’s shoes and maybe even a
skirt, they won’t mind, they won’t even
notice; and then you’ll see that
photograph and you’ll
think – wow – wow, my daughter,
wow, this spectacular girl that I
know, that I knew – she looks as if she
belonged in a place she
never should’ve gone; she looks
happy; I mean, she’s smiling and she’s
walking beside them and she looks almost as if
she could be one of their suck-up friends – just
oh my god, you’ll be just so – just so proud, your heart will
swell and then you’ll look into that picture and you’ll
realize there’s no difference between the
child that you held inside your
arms so many years ago
and the magazine you’re cradling just as
dearly, if not more. and you’ll have everything you’d ever
wanted from a daughter; you’ll be happy you’ll be proud and maybe –

maybe, in my distant hopes, just maybe you’ll forget that
I am truly here; you’ll forget that I can
think and breathe and hurt with all the
power of the
universe.

I am well.

love,
your daughter