Open Letter, Broken Quill

Listen.

You may think you know me.

But you really don't.

And I don't know if you'll want to.

--I have a confession to make.

You don't want to get mixed up with the likes of me.

I'm messy.

And filthy.

...I can't handle myself.

I curse more than I should.

I put myself down to avoid facing the wounds of my past.

And I'm terrified of anything new or beautiful, unless it's on my terms.

Do you still want me?

After all this time, I'm still afraid of anything beautiful or alive or bearing any semblance of true reality.

...I really do have a confession to make.

I honestly do.

I'm loud.

I'm the girl that sits in the corner because everyone is too afraid to talk to her.

So she stopped saying what she really thought.

Until the Light touched her.

And now she's free to speak, free to love, free to smile...

but she still is silent

and afraid

Have you ever met a dog that's been hit too many times?

How they flinch?

And shudder into a corner?

At the sound of a raised voice, they will either shatter and resort to rage

or collapse in grief and hide under a table or chair.

That's what you'll have to deal with, dealing with me.

Do you really want to see my true colors?

I--I don't think you do.

It's a scary place, my insides.

I have seldom turned a light on,

seldom lit a flame to glance upon those shadowed walls and broken mirrors.

It used to be bright and colorful,

and for brief moments in a refraction of light,

she is bright

and beautiful

--golden...like the sun

But the sun always fades

the night always returns.

Please, tell her that she can take your hand

and maybe she'll believe that what she sees before her is real

and not a mirage

not a dream of a fevered mind.

That God really does love her enough

to show her love

in the world

and in the words

of those around her.

Those dark corners

those sharp corners that she's tripped on,

stepped on,

are still very sharp

and very dark

and growing black

I....I have a confession to make...

Will you be able to handle it?

How could you be able to handle it?

No one...no one could handle it

No one could handle

me

Please...



prove
me
wrong...