To: Everyone
From: Juliet

You might have known me.
You might have not.
You might have been my "friend",
Or you might have teased me.
In fact, you probably did,
Or would have...
Day after day,
Name after name,
Always so nasty,
Always the same.

Now when I said before
That you could have been my friend,
I lied.
You might have thought you were.
Or pretended to be.
But you probably still teased me.
And even so,
You would have known
What I was planning,
That I really wasn't "fine" or "ok",
And helped me fine another way.
But no, I hid it well.
Or maybe you just never cared.
I don't think anyone did.
Not even my family.
Yes you:
Mom, pop, you know you didn't.
Don't lie, don't pretend,
Don't kid yourselves again.
You called him your favorite...
You called me a failure...
You think it's my fault?
You didn't raise me right,
Or fairly,
And you know that you barely
Ever showed me love or care
Or ran your fingers through my hair.
I'd wake up from a nightmare
And crawl into your bed.
Instead of cooing "it's alright"
You yelled
You screamed
You shunned me from your room,
And you shunned me from your life.
You probably won't even miss me,
Will you?
No.
I think not.
You still have him,
And that's all you ever wanted.

I wonder...
Will any of you miss me?
Will any of you ever realize
That I'm gone, gone forever?
Maybe someday way far off,
A pondering student will ask:
"Hey, where's that one weird girl?
Wasn't she in our class?"
Shoulders will shrug,
Heads will tilt,
But no answer will be found.
You won't remember that I died
And was buried in the ground.

If I have a funeral,
I'm sure it will be small.
My parents won't pay much,
If they even pay at all.
They'd send out invitations,
Or maybe measly emails;
But they'll all just end up
In the trash or in the junk mail.
No one cares.
No one.
If they come,
They don't cry.
Why would they?
What reason would they, you,
Have to shed a tear
On my account?
You don't even know me.
No one would speak,
Or say a single thing.
No one would share a memory,
Because there are none to remember.

So you see, now, the point
Of this letter to all of you:
The people, anyone and everyone,
From a strange stranger girl
Who no one knows or ever knew.
I serve no purpose,
I serve no point,
There's nothing left for me.
At least nothing,
Not one thing,
That my eyes could ever see.
So today I will die
At my own two worthless hands.
I'll mail this letter
And then I'll be gone.
If you happen to be reading this now,
Then I am long gone.
How?
I don't know yet.
I can't decide.
Whether gun, knife, or pills,
Or maybe a rope
Around my throat.
If you're curious,
I'm sure the news will know.
If they even notice I'm gone,
Unlike everyone else.
If they do,
They won't show my face,
Or even my name,
Just: "teen girl: found dead"
Then they'll move on to a special report
On a sport of some sort.
No one will ever remember my name,
Juliet, if you even care.
I won't even bother
To give you my last.
What does it matter
Now that I'm gone?
Dead and gone.
I'm the past.

I won't have killed myself
For a love like Romeo.
I'll be doing it
For lack of love,
For lack of any such thing.
It won't be dramatic,
It won't be remembered,
It won't be written down
To be read for years
And performed over town.
It won't be important,
Because I'M not important.
I am nothing.
Nothing at all.

So goodbye,
If you care.
Nothing shall change,
Besides maybe the air.
Will you feel it?
Me?
My looming spirit?
Probably not.
If you didn't notice me there alive,
You won't notice when I'm gone.
So again, goodbye.
Farewell.
So long.
The end...