dear me

i've been tagged! and it's the loveliest tag, ever. i have to write an anonymous letters. and i sure do love letters ;)

it's supposed to be a dear you letter, but since i think i'm going to write a dear me letter.. call it creative license, but there are some things i need to assure myself of.

dear me,

god, you're wonderful. too much? okay. i'll stop. but you are. sometimes, anyways. not when you're PMSing, but that's another story.

i know it's hard being in university with so many people that are so much older than you, but you are there because you deserve to be there. you are just as smart, just as worthy. believe in yourself, please. i believe in you so much, i just need you to do the same.

and don't stress. you'll figure it all out. so what if you graduate next year? so what if you don't know what you're doing after that? okay, mom and dad definitely disagree, but honestly, where is the goddamn fire? there IS none. the fire is only in your boots. you will figure it out in due time. i know it doesn't feel that way, but i need you to believe that what is meant to be will be. trust me. everything will work out. i guarantee it. stop stressing. (seriously, dude, these spots on your face are REALLY starting to freak me out!)

take your writing seriously. it's the most important thing to you for a REASON. you're a student, a daugher, a sister, a friend, but you are first and foremost a writer. it is not what you do, it is who you are. never ever forget that.

no one will ever be all things to you. this is an unfair expectation. take what you can from whomever offers it. let it be enough.

and you will meet a boy who is funny and sweet and good to his mother. i don't know when or where, but i trust you will. and if you don't? well, that will be alright, too.

and keep on reading bell hooks. i think she just might change your life.

love,

me

letters

i haven't written any letters in a while. i'm a big fan of letters in case you haven't noticed. especially letters to people i don't have any (legal) way of reaching.

dear adam levine,

i think i'm in love. i graduate at the end of next year, and then i am all yours. i'd leave school right now, but just in case things don't work out, i need something to fall back on. it's the feminist in me, what can i tell you?

i know you have a girlfriend... a victoria's secret model? seriously? so unoriginal, adam, i'm a little disgusted. but i see the allure. just look at those long, spindly legs... on second thought, don't. so if you can wait just a little longer? i'll never leave your bed. (what? it's a song, okay, don't look at me like that).

yours,

jamila

dear james franco,

one of my biggest aspirations in life is to marry a good looking writer. you're certainly good looking, and your certainly a writer, but are you a good writer? and with those smoldering eyes of yours, does it even matter? hm. i recently read your book of short stories palo alto, and i immediately took a shower afterwards. just kidding. no, actually i'm not really kidding. but thank you for making me realize that i must amend my standards: for a guy to be marriage worthy he must not only be good looking but be a good writer, too. so thank you for making me realize that i deserve better.

forever yours,

jamila

now letters to people i actually know:

dear dawsa,

i love you and i miss you so much. it's incredibly lonely without you here. i miss you at the most random times. sometimes at night before i fall asleep i'll look at the clock and calculate what time it is for you, and i'll get sad. i wish you weren't so far away. my sister girl.

dear mama,

everyday is mother's day. i hope you feel that way. you're beautiful, inside and out, and i'm so blessed and proud to be your daughter. it's so nice having you home these past few weeks. i love seeing your face when i come home from school. it's my favorite face in the world, did you know that?

dear grandma,

i think, and this might seem a little strange, that you know me better than anyone else, and in a lot of ways i know you better than anyone else. better than your dead husband, or your own children. i can't wait to come see you. i dream of you sometimes. it makes waking up with you so far away that much harder. every poem i've ever written is about you in some way.

baby sister

welcome to the world, sweet pea.
i'll write you a poem, just not right now.

i'll miss you

"Parting is all we know of heaven and all we need to know of hell."
~Emily Dickinson


it's the things that we breathe in and hold in our lungs, the things that we let live beneath our skin that eventually poison us. always.
what do you do when the truths we speak turn into lies the minute they hit the air? how were we to know that our hearts kept secrets from us?

i was lonely, and i let you into me. i opened up wide, like the earth, and swallowed your secrets, kept them in my heart, in my lungs. we river rafted through the cold blood of my veins. you warmed me.

it's winter again, and i'm cold, so cold. it's the kind of cold that's lives forever behind your spleen- the kind of cold that makes your bones rattle like a million keys that have lost their locks.

teach me how to taste the sun. don't leave until i'm warm again.

so dip your pen in blood, and write

i write because i don't know how else to make you understand me.
don't look me in the eyes when i talk, or i will look away.
i don't know how else to show you that i am here, that i am real, that i have something to say, that i need you to listen...
so look at the words spilling across the page, dancing across the page, reaching up and choking you because they are so full of meaning.
this is for the poetry jotted down on post it notes. this is for the love letters you keep in the box under your bed, too afraid to send. this is for the conversations carried out in bathroom stalls, that no one can understand but the reader and the writer.
this is for you.

your absence is a presence I feel, so writing letters eases the ache and makes it feel like you're here

two posts in one day :) just because

Dear Law and Order SVU,
I'm hooked to your show, I've watched every single episode at least twice. Well, that's an exaggeration but you know what I mean. You have scarred me for life. I'm terrified of being outside alone because I am afraid that everyone on the street wants to rape me. It's absolutely horrifying to walk down the street and think that everyone who makes eye contact with or accidentally bumps into me has just sexually assaulted me. But it's okay.
Better safe than sorry right?

Dear Gardisal,
I don't give a damn about cervical cancer right now. All I know is that I refuse to get another shot. I hate shots, okay. They are painful and unnecessary because who the eff even gets leprosy anymore? So no, no, no, no, no thanks. Take your little finger snapping, hand clapping, one less commercials and go.

Dear John Mayer,

Write a song about me please? I know you're afraid that people will think you're creepy since your thirty something and well, I'm only seventeen. But I will be eighteen in a few months and then, it'll be okay. We will be okay. I'm not some crazy fan, I swear. I think maybe I actually might love you. And for a girl like me, love don't come easy. And I realize that the media makes you seem kind of like a manwhore/douchebag, but to be completely honest? I don't care. No one's perfect, well with the exception of me, but come on. We have to be realistic here. Not everyone can be me. So I will look past all your imperfections if you will play me a story on your guitar and sing me to sleep.

Have Beens, Never Were's, and Spencer Pratt

There's this new show on TV called I'm a Celebrity... Get me Outta Here.
The thing is none of the people on the show are celebrities.
They are have-beens.
They are not stars that have faded over time, but stars that were puny and had a chance to shine.
The most notable is ...
drum roll please...
Spencer Pratt.
I don't hate, but I don't like him AT ALL.
He's a jerk.
And he's thinks he's the shizznit.
He annoys me.
He makes my blood boil. He makes me want to reach my hands into the TV and smack him.
I don't understand how he can call himself a celebrity with a straight face.
He's a leech that sucked off LC's fame on the Hills.
And no, don't worry I do not watch the Hills. Puhleease. The media has not brainwashed me completely.
So moral of the story:
Spencer Pratt, if you ever come across this blog, because I'm sure you google yourself to see what people are saying about you, you suck.
So does your bombshell bimbo wife.

Case in point.

It was ridiculous of me to think that I could say goodbye without crying. It was ridiculous of me to think that I could, somehow, despite how apart of me you are, be nonchalant about it. I really don't know what I was thinking.
Did I really think I could say goodbye to my other half, my sister in crime, my Hollywood like best friend forever, without losing a part of myself?
There's a whole in my chest, and it hurts like hell. I think my heart is breaking; let me explain. I am not some wimpy girl crying over a boy she has known for two weeks and convinced herself she would marry. I am a girl hurting over the loss of her sister. I am a girl whose had a part of her ripped out, and haphazardly stapled and glued and paper clipped together.
Hold my hand and let's dance across the pages of our memories. Slip back into time and watch our time together from a different angle. Let's set the soundtrack of our time together on repeat, and this time, let's sing at the top of our longs, regardless of how tired we are, or how many times we've heard the song before.
People are meant to be together. It's cruel to bring people together only to violently rip them apart. We're good together. I wouldn't call us two halves of a whole: we're not so alike. But were like two polar opposites that go well together. Like ketchup and Mac and Cheese. Like apple juice and oranges.
I'm empty inside, like a deflated bike tire. You know the feeling where you really want cereal, but there's no milk? It's been like that times infinity.
The hurt won't heal overnight, maybe not even at all. But it will get easier. It always does. Or at least that's what they tell me.
I wish I could keep everyone I loved right here, right next to me, for always.
But I can't, and you're gone, and I'm sad.
I miss you.
It's tangible.
It's not a feeling, but a big, heavy brick in the center of my being.
I miss you.

Dear Barack Obama,
Wow. I don't even know where to start. You're no longer president-elect, but President. Wow times infinity. This is beyond anything I've ever experienced before. I volunteered at the Campaign for Change, you know. Me and my best friend. We walked around in the cold and knocked on doors. We got praises and 'keep up the good works', plus we got doors slammed in our faces and dogs set on us, but it was okay. It really was. Because I believed in you. Because I liked the way I felt after listening to you speak. Cuz I felt like I knew you, and you knew me. Because I felt like you cared about me. And I was too scared to believe that you could win. But you did, and I cried and cried and cried. I was so proud, you don't even understand. It was our victory.
And today it was made official.
B.Boy, do right by us, please. I'm counting on you. I'm seventeen years young, and sometimes I'm scared to grow up because the world's retarded. But you give me hope. You show me that my dreams can come true. That in the great story that is America, I can have a chapter. If I want it. If I work for it. And I will.
You make me want to be better. So thank you. It means a lot.
I've got your back Mr. President, and I want to help you fix America.
Because together, we can do anything.

Love,
J.

Cinderella is STILL fairest of them all

Where has J disappeared to?
Awww, so nice of you to miss me!
(Play along, dear, we all want to feel loved)
Truth is I haven't really been up to much, except school kicking my ass and the 50 year old who asked for my phone number and the creepo from the bus part 2.
But I am tired and I just wanted to let you know I'm alive and well, with plenty of funny stories to share.
But not this time.
Soon, I promise.

I Love you World, so could you please just love me back?
Jxx

And these thoughts keep me wired like a hot cup of coffee. (even though I don't drink coffee. It stunts your growth. And makes your teeth yellow)

It's a little past 10, I have an 8 am writing class tomorrow, essay completed, questions unanswered. I should be in bed but I can't turn my mind off, so in an attempt to get some much (much, much, much) needed sleep, I transfer my problems on to paper (or in this case, website) leaving the words to sort themselves out.
I'm wondering if it's possible for people to change so completely that you don't recognize them anymore. I'm wondering if, maybe, you never knew them at all.
I'm wondering if it's possible to love and hate someone all at the same time. Or no, I'm wondering if it's possible to love someone, but not like them.
I'm wondering if reminding someone over and over again will make them remember.
I'm wondering if I hold on tight enough I can keep you close to me, even though you're fighting, and struggling, and screaming for release.
I'm wondering if you know that I'm scared to let go. I'm scared that you won't ever come back. Not literally, but metaphorically, duh.
I'm wondering if it's all my fault, and I'm just in denial.
I'm wondering if you care, even if it's just a little.
I'm wondering if you remember sharing secrets and stories. I wonder if you remember crying together until we were all out of tears, laughing together until our stomachs seized and cramped, but laughing anyways.
I'm wondering how you can be so oblivious to all the pain your causing. Actually, I'm wondering if you're not oblivious, but you're just looking the other way.
I'm thinking I'll have to ride this storm the best I can and see what happens.
I'm thinking I should go to sleep.

Good Night World,
Love J.

No, I am not schizo

Dear J of Today,

Stop worrying about me. You've buried me, so stop digging me back up. 

You're not like me. You won't make the same mistakes I did.

Granted you'll make other, possibly stupider ones, but that's for J of Tomorrow to talk to you about.

 You're on the right track.

 Just keep walking.

Love,

J of Yesterday 

Dear You,

We have so many, many, many memories together. Good ones, bad ones, better ones, worse ones... I wouldn't say you've been there for me my entire life, but you have witnessed my entire life. And that means a lot, to know that you know everything about me. I'm so comfortable around you it's almost ridiculous. We're two halves but together we make a whole and a half. We're two peas in a pod and then some. I don't know where I end and where you begin. You've been with me for so long that you've become apart of me.
But lately things have changed. I need you, I do. But you don't need me, it seems. You've turned into a cancerous tumor that is begging to be evicted. I wish I knew what you were thinking. I wish that I could cut you open and see whats ailing you. Is it me?
I used to read you like a book but all of a sudden like some manic director you've changed the script, swapped scenes, edited the ending. But you didn't tell me. You didn't tell me. And I was left standing in the storm without an umberella. I was expecting sun, you see.
Maybe the fault is mine. I don't know. To be honest I don't know has become my way of life when it comes to you.
I miss you. I guess that's all I'm trying to say. And it hurts, like you've cut up my heart and crazy glued the pieces back together, to know you don't miss me too.
Usually I don't get attached to people so they don't phase me, I act aloof. Like I don't care.
Somehow I don't think that was an option with you. The answer was there and there were no other choices.
Attached. Like my left leg. My right ear, my broken arm. Part of me no matter what. I cannot disattach you from me anymore than I can disattach me from myself.
I love you. It sounds so foreign like I'm speaking another language and I fear you won't understand me. I took it for granted that you knew, maybe that was my first mistake. Maybe I should have let you know and not have assumed you did. It seems crazy to me that you wouldn't know, that I love you, more than I love myself. I do. I do. I do. Maybe I should stop trying to fix things and let life take its due course and let the pieces fall where they may. Maybe things will get better, maybe they won't. But for now I will sit back and watch you like one of those suspense movies we're so fond of. The kind that has elaborate plot lines and twist endings. And I'll hope, and I'll pray for a happy ending. Happy, like we used to be.


From,
Me

A letter to myself

Dear J,

I really don't know how I should start. I feel like I know everything about you, and other times you're like a complete stranger and I know nothing at all. Just know that what I say is from the heart. The deepest most secret part of the heart that you choose to ignore. I want to tell you everything you've never had the nerve to tell yourself. Everything that you've been avoiding and pushing to the back of your mind. It's ok if people misjudge you, it's ok if they see something that isn't there. You have nothing to prove to anyone but yourself.

Choosing not to acknowledge something does not make it disappear. You cannot run away from yourself. Slow down for a minute. It's not so bad is it? You're not so bad, are you? Perfection is an illusion my dear. You're acting like the stupid dog that is condemned to running around in circles forever chasing his own tail. Breath. You cannot rewind and you cannot fast forward. No matter how much you wish you could hold time in the palm of your hand and throw it away tomorrow will always come after today will always come after yesterday. Yesterday is dead. Gone. Never, ever to be experienced again, only in that awful place in the back of your mind that's stuck in repeat. Today is such a beautiful thing. It's the second chance that no one else would give you. The gift that keeps on giving. Now. That is all you're guaranteed. Make the most of it.

You're a good girl. And I know how much you needed to say that. But don't let it get to your head. There is always room for self-improvement. You are not perfect, and I know how sometimes you think you are. You are not any better than anyone else. Your situation may be different, your circumstances, your condition, but you are not any more worthy of God's grace than anyone else. Remember this and always be humble.

Forgive and forget. I know how hard it is to forget, but remembering will do you no good. There is no point in remembering what you want to forget, these thoughts do nothing but clutter your mind. Forgive others, forgive yourself. Yes, you have made mistakes and you have done many many stupid things but they do not make you. You can wear them and be proud, or you can put them behind you and move on. Remember that God is always forgiving. Find it in your heart to forgive as well.

Be heedful of all that you say. It's ok to lose your temper, but just know that words are sharp and can do far more damage than you are aware of. We are all human, we all get angry, but always be mindful of the feelings of others. Take great measures in preserving feelings, for they are fragile. More fragile than you can ever hope to know. May you never cause another to frown. You have happiness inside you, and it's a cold world out there. Let others bask and take comfort in your light.

Don't measure yourself by the standards of others. You will always either find yourself to be too good or not good enough. It is time for you to rise to your own standards and expect nothing less from yourself.

I worry about you sometimes. You're too reckless. You're too restless. I've seen you throw caution to the winds too many times to count and have stood by unable to do anything but watch another disaster unfold. Slow down. Think for a moment. Think about tomorrow. Am I contradicting myself again? I tell you to make the most of now but to be mindful of later, does that even make sense? Yet, somehow I know that you know exactly what I am trying to say. I can put together a puzzle that looks like nothing anyone has ever seen. They cannot name it, cannot identify it. Yet, you know. You know, even though sometimes you pretend you don't.

I see great things in you. I see potential. And God, I know how much you hate that word. Potential is that thing. That evil thing that makes you so unhappy with what you are because you are too busy looking for what you can be. Potential cannot be fulfilled because no matter how well you do you can always do better. That isn't the point, and you know it. Don't let the prospect of more poison your view of what you have. Make the most of yourself. You are your greatest asset.

Beauty is such a superficial thing. The tree might be beautiful in the fall, but it loses it leaves every winter. People who like for the way you look ignore the person you are inside. I know you know people like this. Beauty is the box that carries the present. Once you open the box you realize that the real gift is inside. I'm just saying that it's ok to look nice, but don't get carried away. More often than not beauty is a cover up of whats inside. Don't let the cover distract you from the writing. Don't let you're cover be all that you have going for you. Let people see inside of you when you speak, when you act. You're a diamond, you know that? A real gem. I know you look at too many girls and are disgusted by how easily they throw themselves away. No one will ever know what you are worth unless you treasure yourself. You are priceless.

What is your last name, child? Do you know what it means? Do you have any idea what it represents? It is not your last name, only. It is the name of your father and his forefathers. It is the pride of a family. It is respect and honor and dignity encompassed. You represent the family in your home. The family to come and the family that was. You carry all the glory of the past and all the hopes for the future. You carry a village in Africa, a city in Arabia. A culture, a religion, a people. And I know it is a heavy burden to carry, but so far you have bore it well and I know that you will continue to do so. Keep your head up high and remember who you are. You are the hopes and dreams and labors of many. You will not let us down. I know this.

Surround yourself with people who love you for you and in spite of you. Your family. Your few true and good friends. You owe these people so much. I would say more than you'd ever know, but I'm sure you do know. A debt that can only be repaid through love. Love is the only thing that matters. Life? It's really too short. You're 16 already, a junior in high school. When did that happen? Don't waste your time being angry at the people who mean the most to you. You wake up and then it's over. Love, love, love, love. You know the feeling. Look at your brothers and your sisters and your mother and your father and your best friends. They are what matters. Hold them close and don't let go. Whatever happens, they will be there. Love them and let them love you and know that nothing will ever feel as good.

You're really going to make something of yourself, you know that? Who am I kidding? Of course you know that. It's time to live. It's time to allow yourself to be everything you were made to be. Good luck, girl. Good luck.

Your friend,

J