Dear Editor,

May I ask how is it possible that young women like me are omitted from the spotlight of society? That we are demeaned and pushed beneath the carpet like scraps of paper and useless pennies. Why is it true that when I ask for a hand in the bitter cold that I am turned away like a vermin in one’s kitchen? I’m sorry Mr. Editor but I have not introduced myself. I am the girl that was once young and beautiful, plush and youthful. I am the young girl forced to be a woman, by the violence and hatred I’m surrounded with. My childish smile has turned into a frown that is calm and everlasting. My peers let me brush past them, as I hear their whispered slander I walk past numb from the tears that have long paid their respects. I want you to tell me why no one will help me, why no friend will take me in, after I have been beaten and bruised by the ones that claim to love me, but their love is not unconditional and comes and goes like a rainbow, only after the bitter storm. I want you to tell me why my mother tells me I’m a rotten child, when I’ve been in honors classes since seventh grade. I want you to tell me why she thinks I’m selfish when her youngest daughter has fresh clothes to wear everyday, and I am left to wear the same jeans from the day before. I want you to tell me why the only one in this house that seems to be a good person is the devil in my eyes when the night arrives, when the drinks begin to appear in front of his eyes and he can’t stop until the change is out of his pockets. When he comes home I am usually the target of his harassment, I want you to tell me why. Editor, tell me why I look older then everyone else my age, and why I don’t fit in with the rest. Tell me why people go to me for their problems, and when I am cracking they walk out just like my real father. Please Editor, tell me why I nearly died, tell me why I grew so lonely and depressed, and tell me how I should have fixed it. Editor tell me why the one I love is too old for me, and why my mother was only kind when he was around. Editor tell me why I can’t leave without getting the authorities involved when I have been taking care of myself since I was a young girl, defending myself against every creep and milestone I reached. Editor tell me why this letter probably doesn’t matter to you, is it because there are so many that resemble the same thing? Or is it because you believe this could be fictional? Well I’m sorry to say Editor, but these words are only realistic, and they pulse in my brain everyday. So Editor, please tell me how I can breathe in such a cramped world, tell me how to get the fix I need to save myself from these violent waters.

Thank You,

Elizabeth


P.S. Mr Editor, I lock myself in my room everyday, waiting until the day I can walk out without the police called.