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Dear 2015,

It has taken me sometime to write you, simply because I was not prepared to greet you quite yet. I don’t want to come across as demanding or pretentious, but I have a lot planned for you. So listen to me, please, and try to understand that

I’d like to grow a garden in the place between my ribs and gradually clear out the thorns and stinging needles.

I want to immerse myself in word, and let the ink soak into my skin, to cut the words from the roof of my mouth with pen and say something important.

I’d like to bleed a little this year.

I want to embalm my cracked-parted-lips in the salve of mercy, and forgive my demons. As a matter of fact, I want to thank them for their constancy.

I want to forgive myself in advance for the times where I will cling to the safety of bed for weeks, and let calories unsteady my hands and buckle my knees.

I say now that I am sorry self, for the compulsive worry that I will inflict upon you, but be strong for me please.

Here, in the beginning, I resolve that my bare feet will find ground and my bare knees carpet or maybe bedspread. I will binge on life, bad decisions, and other things I am sure, but at least I know that because of this, I cannot be empty.

I will want to grow my hair long and wear pretty things, and learn how to drive, and go to college. I will attempt to learn how to dance, embrace new friends, and eat better food. I will maybe plan a trip, and study, do yoga and continue to drink coffee. I will fail, and be the same person I’ve always been and I will be sad often. I will watch films and go to a concert or two. I want to throw all of my shit into the garbage, because I don’t need it.

I want to love people. I want to try harder with my family. I am going to try.

So 2015, be kind to me. I am going to try to be brave this year, and welcome you in my rawest form. I have known 18 years already, but I want to be better for you.



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