Fragmented Mess With No* Meaning *little

Dear Ukulele,

My dad claims you’re too loud, but that’s exactly what the boys in middle school said about me, so I sympathize.

Dear Baseball Bat,

My mom tells me you’re too boyish for me and I shouldn’t keep you close “in case of emergencies.” She said the same thing about my best friend in first grade.

Dear Pearl Necklace,

I think you’re too pretty for me. Too delicate, more like. I think I’ll break you. That’s what I thought about my first crush too.

Dear Instant Dry Nail Polish,

You chip away too soon, almost like my self esteem.

Dear Anxiety,

My parents don’t think you exist. My old therapist claimed she could get rid of you. I don’t think I want to just yet. Or maybe I’m afraid of what I’ll do if you leave.

Dear Money,

People tell me that you’re worthless, and in the same breath, they explain your incalculable value. Whole worlds have been built around you, yet you’re taken for granted. Now, you’re being replaced by a screen and some code. I think you and happiness have a lot in common.

Dear Society,

You’re the home I don’t want to visit anymore but come crawling back for Thanksgiving dinners and weekly rants about the economy. You’ve been my old companion since I was six, and I don’t think you’ll ever leave me. You’re a spiteful bonfire that everyone hates, but we always come back for some more.

Dear Bookshelf,

Stop looking at me like that.

Dear Thoughts That Fill My Head At Night,

Don’t leave me.

Dear Inanimate Objects I Compare My Problems To In A Fictious Piece Because I Can’t Discuss My Problems With My Problems,

I’m glad you listen to me when nobody else will.