Dear Life,

Get out of my life. I don't like you; I’m scared of you. I'm not scared of death; I’m scared of life.  I can't look at myself in the mirror without getting goose bumps; I can’t water a plant without screaming. I don't know why I'm afraid of life, I just am.

But maybe it has something to do with my mother; she hated death, so I decided to revolt against her by hating life.

Another thing I should mention is that I don't like school, because most learning has something to do with living. In case you're wondering, I don't like writing, and I’m terrible at it. So don't expect any Shakespeare, coming from me.  “Why are you writing this?” you ask.  Well, I'll tell you.

It was about a year ago, that I started going to talk to this weird    psychiatrist that my mother wanted me to see. So we talked and we talked, and I was not having fun because I hated talking.  The psychiatrist said that I should write about my phobia, to get all my anger out. I thought,” what a bunch of nonsense,” but I did it. Here I am now writing to you. I ‘m afraid you’re never going to write back and that’s fine with me. But if you do, I’m afraid of what you’ll tell me, anyway.  I’m scared that you’ll call me a coward for being afraid of something   that I’ve lived with all these years.



Signed,

       Collin.



  Dear Collin,

I received your letter a while ago and I have been contemplating your phobia for 2 years. For what you wrote was powerful.



You’re not a coward and I won’t scold you. I have a phobia of death. Everyone has a phobia of something or other. Your phobia is not unusual but just so few people these days care to express themselves.  You’re one of the first people to have written to me.  You’re not a coward; you’re talking to your fear, something that takes lots of courage.



There is no reason to be afraid of me. Why are you afraid of me? I don’t think your mother is the real reason. I think you’re just too scared to go out in the real world and breathe the living air. You’re not afraid of life, you’re afraid of what is in life. You’re not afraid of me, you’re afraid of the lives I create and what is inside of them.

Your mother cares about you. She wants you to conquer your fear. You can do it, simply enjoy what’s around you, and don’t be afraid. Because, beneath your fear is hatred and you have no choice but to love.

You can do it , Collin, I know you can.



Signed,

Life

she deals out kisses like hard candy
with a coy smile
and a swivel of her hips
a sweet little laugh
that sounds like ice
before you know it
she'll have your heart in her hands
"love" is what she'll call it
and you'll believe it too.
but "love" doesn't last long
with a swivel of her hips
and a sweet little laugh
your heart will go with her
and you'll just be another name off her list
another heart in her jar.

Rip out my heartstrings
Throw it all away tonight
You show no remorse.

Exploit my weakness
Feeding into my worst fear
Eyes filled with sadness.

She took my hand and followed me
through the trees,
under the archway made of ivy
(flanked by pristinely carved hedges)
into the vast, open field
which met the ethereal red sun
on the horizon.

We sat in the fresh grass,
cool in the evening air.
All the while we stayed silent,
just admiring the untouched space.
Each blade of grass before us
swayed gently,
tantalisingly...

Time had stopped
but everything was still living.
Still moving.
As if this place were not included
in Time's perseverance.  
I didn't want it to be,
it was too important to me.

It occurred to me then
that it wasn't this place
that I valued the most at all
It was this moment.

And I captured it.

Tremble, my darling, I tremble for you
My bones, white and brittle, they tremble too
This life is too short for you to be true
So tremble, you say, and tremble I do.

Soft winged doves fly quick on the wind
But Darling I'm sure- they tremble too.
The mountains seem strong, stronger than sin
But Darling I know- that tremble they do.

In short, dearest Darling, when you have long gone
The world out in space will tremble for you

Her breath was short
Her body paper thin
Her face contorted
Body racked with sin

Sobbing in the corner
Looking pretty glum
This must be the horror
Of what we have become.

let me tell you a
story. one time something
convinced me that i was not
beautiful. it was society
it was anxiety it was
the others and the i.
then i took a sage trip on a
spaceship, i sat inside myself
the real myself, and felt
the warmth of the core of the
earth, i felt the power surge down the
roots of my feet, i felt
the light at the center of me
and it was connected,
somehow inseparable, from
the sun and the moon and the
other stars. now that i have felt this,
the "size" you speak of illudes me.
what is it? a warp in space
time, a measure of gravity?
how huge are you, really? a dot
inside a planet inside a galaxy
inside a universe. what do you really
feel when you have so few clothes
on? irrationality that can be turned
into freedom within an attosecond
infinitysecond. what do you really
feel when you have so few clothes
on? listen to the wise wolf
woman inside you.