You shade me with love and allow just enough light with your fenestrations. An earthly treasure I’ve found, beauty in every leaf you hold. Watching you grow from a baby to a teen plant now, I have learned some of life’s most important lessons; removing things that no longer serve me, hydrating for rejuvenation, and moving into a different space since I’ve outgrown the old. I can’t wait until you tower over me so I can shade myself under your large leaves some more. As life becomes more complex, you stay consistent. I may grow old and wrinkled, but you will continue to thrive in your greenery. Thank you for teaching and loving me. Even when I’ve reached my lowest points, your resilience to my neglect is unmatched. Your forgiveness for me shows in your growth. I love you, my monstera deliciosa.

Crimson red,
resembling dripping blood,
a whisper and a scream,
a flame of passion,
allure of elegance,
a picture of love.

Prick me,
thorns surround,
and make me bleed,
yet delicate petals,
tender, a fragrance so sweet,
with beauty that marks the world.

You are my favorite,
no other can compare,
one, or a thousand blooms,
making your heart skip a beat,
dancing with romance,
enchanting radiance.

Majestic in every way,
the queen of the garden,
dangerous to the touch,
yet I can’t resist,
the thorned nature,
that draws one in,
sweetly divine.

Dear Writing,

When you came into my life in a new way seven years ago, I didn’t know then that it would be the love I wanted and needed. We became acquainted again thanks to a mother figure who showed me how glorious and attractive you are; inside and out.

My eyes became new when I saw you through her testimonies and words. Sadly, she would stop showing you around because her life became busy. Months passed by, and I kept hoping that she would show you around again, but there was something about you that kept calling me.

After wrestling with these new feelings, a lightbulb finally went off in my head to speak to you myself. When I started talking, you talked back with emphasis and enthusiasm. You allowed me to be a part of your home. You even introduced me to many people who would enrich my life in ways I couldn’t imagine.

Even though I would quickly become addicted to you, even over text you, it didn’t scare you off. If anything, you encouraged me to speak to you more, even at midnight. I’m terrible at saying the L word, but I hope I show my love for you and all you’ve done for me during our run together.

Your presence has given me the vitamins needed to thrive every day. Because of you, I have a much clearer vision of my creativity inside me. Without you, my life would be dramatically different in the last several years. I wish I had seen you in this light many years ago, but I guess I needed to do some discovering to find you.

I could thank you a billion times and it still wouldn’t be enough. When I read pieces from other writers who share their love for you, I truly get it. So, thank you, writing. I salute you, and I’ll keep honoring you for eternity.

Sincerely,

Gerald

Dear Holly and Teddy,

Monkey and bear… Monkey and bear…

An unlikely pairing, yet a match made in heaven.

Holly, you are the monkey I have had since my sixth birthday. One would think you are an ape–you look like a chimpanzee–but you have a little stub of a tail. That makes you a monkey.

I begged my parents to get you for me when I saw you at Disneyland. Ever since then, you and I have been inseparable.

You used to squeak, but I loved you so much I broke your squeaker and now you talk with the words I put in your mouth.

You lost your pretty pink dress many years ago and I replaced it with my favorite panda t-shirt I wore when I was four.

One ratty pink bow remains above your left ear. I pierced your ears when I was a teenager and then took your earrings out shortly before my adulthood.

Teddy Eddy, you are the bear my grandparents gifted my mom for Christmas when she was 16 years old. You came from Weinstock’s, the department store relic of yesteryear.

Teddy, you are 14 years older than Holly, yet you became besotted with her when I was 14 years old.

You wanted to marry her and spend the rest of your life with her when she was only eight years old.

Apparently, age doesn’t matter to stuffed animals. You are both perpetually five years old. You both wanted to get playground-married, in front of all of your stuffie friends.

And me, of course.

I decided that marriage was too huge a commitment for inanimate objects, occasionally come alive.

You wanted to live with Holly under the deck outside the house and build your own little home together.

I told you no, there were too many cobwebs and possums that would claim you as their own.

You and Holly remain devoted to each other to this day. Who needs marriage when you have a solid lifelong commitment?

Both of you were devastated when I lived on my own for 11 years. I took Holly with me, and Teddy, you needed to stay with my mom.

After all, I borrowed you for many years. Mom wanted you back. And I couldn’t be without my Holly, even as an adulty-adult.

Your little Teddy Bear heart filled with ecstasy when I moved back in with my mom five years ago and brought Holly with me.

I have been without the human love of my life for years, and probably will be without her for the rest of my life.

But you, my true loves, will be with me for as long as I shall live, through thick and thin, fires and floods–nothing will come between us.

I love you, Holly and Teddy. My monkey and bear, in love for life.

(100% Style Score)

It has been three months since I began daydreaming about my return to you. We had so many plans and goals to achieve this year. Sadly, everything shall be postponed as I cannot walk on solid ground; my two legs that once helped me drive to, swim in, and paddle among your beauty are not functioning as they once were. Screws and anchors now aggressively occupy spaces not meant for them. Muscles not in use become weakened shadows of their once-strong selves. Tendons take time to heal and reattach, and I must overcome this hardship before I can unite with you again.

The emotional cell I’m stuck in is more challenging than the physical ailments of recovering. My usual solace in this hectic life, my “me time,” my peace, my re-centering time, and my serene surroundings are currently not an option. You have been in my life since I was a little girl. You remain the same, yet you have helped form me into the woman I am today. I reminisce about our times together, listening to your symphony of soothing sounds and watching videos and photos of our journeys. You gave me coping methods to deal with my troubles and frustrations physically, mentally, and spiritually. You’ve helped me learn how to regulate my emotions. On tough days, I would hurry excitedly home to grab my paddleboard, strap it on the jeep, drive to the dock, and paddle it out. On good days, I head out to float in the happiness and peacefulness of the sun or moon glowing on my skin. My senses are always heightened with you. My hearing expanded beyond the next visible bend, and my sense of touch intensified with every splash against me, demonstrating the refreshing coolness of your fluid motion. The sensation of wind against me was always encouraging me to paddle harder and go further, to persevere in my challenges. When I am hurting, you heal me in the most incredibly soulful way.

I never entirely understood just how deeply I am connected to you until I was forced to be apart. The depth of my love and appreciation of you have become evident in the days of healing at home. A single memory of you helps calm these periodical stormy waters within. The magical guidance of your ripples, your revealing reflections, and the wild currents within you take me on majestic rides of clarity and give birth to many of my aspirations. Thank you for continuing to let your love flow through me.
Healing River, my absent love, we shall reunite in the coming months, and what a glorious embrace it will be.
Until I return, all my love,
K.

In my youth, I had found there wasn’t much I liked. I hated loud chewers. People who asked how I was. I hated when people looked me in the eye and hated when people wore bright colors. Shirts with sayings. I hated when it was too hot out, or not hot enough, or too bright. I hated when a person’s laugh came out reserved and when a person laughed too loud. I hated being alone, and I hated crowds too. 
“There has to be something you like,” my therapist said, “something that you enjoy.” I almost felt my face reach boiling point. My heart raced, and my fingers dug into the sides of my legs. I hated when people did that. I hated when people pried. I hated to talk about myself. “You don’t have to answer right away…” she encouraged gently. “Just think for a moment.” I hated when people spoke to me in that way; why would I need time to consider? I hated to feel stupid or behind. I hated being given time. I stared down at my feet, but the weight of time passing became crushing. I hated to take too long. “I like music.” My eyes never left the floor, and her eyes never left me. “I like music, and I like to draw.” I found myself convinced of her motive. She wants to appear indifferent to my answer in an effort to elicit a response from me. I figured this would give her an opinion on me, and I hated perception, too. Being in and out of therapy had taught my young mind something: in order to overcome, you had to break open and fall apart, and the idea of it frightened me more than it angered me.
As I grew older, I found the things I loved changed very little. I still love music, and I still love art. I’ve since been to art school and have since learned many new songs and new artists’ names. What surprised me the most was this: I didn’t hate all those things when I was young. I hated me. My mother often laughed at those things I hated—not to be cruel, though. Those things I despised were all things I did as well. In my childhood, I came across people who hated the things that I loved. And in a desperate act to be something they loved, I altered myself to become more desirable. I couldn’t be too loud or too quiet. I couldn’t be flashy or too modest. You were supposed to fit in no matter what.
I didn’t realize it, but I had become a pretty good liar in the sense that I had fabricated this life that was not my own, and somehow it wasn’t even one I enjoyed. But you knew that, didn’t you? For years you were watching, lurking within my shadow; you were waiting for me to notice—or waiting for me to learn about you as much as you had learned about me. It took heartache after heartache, but I fought hard to change. How could I turn this anger—this hatred—into something bigger than myself, because it had always been bigger than me. 
I sat on my front porch one day, and my stomach was empty. It was fall. The trees were stripping themselves of their leaves, coating the ground in a dance of oranges, reds and browns. I thought about how long it takes a tree to grow—and to sprout leaves. I thought to myself, what is the point of growing if all you do is change? And then it clicked. I remembered in that moment, being a small child, not even ten years old. I sat on the porch just as I was now, and I had thought about how beautiful the trees looked. I hadn’t given it much thought past that, but every season I would sit on our creaky wooden porch and stare out at the trees that had always been there. I loved them because they could change. Something changed in me that day—I felt outside of myself. I knew what you would be for me—the have the freedom to change. 
I’m not a perfect person, but I had to let you know what you’d done for me. By knowing you, I’ve come to know myself better. My friends tell me I have a loud, teethy, wheezy laugh. It fills a room they say. Bright colors compliment me well, and my silly t-shirts tend to catch a laugh or two. By loving you, I’ve come to love myself. Without the freedom to change, I’d still be that angry child I’d been for years.
I am no longer who I was.
—Kara Gay

Soft fur brown eyes the last gift he gave to me
you were there the night he died holding me in the dark
through all those nights feeling lost and alone
unloved by those around me
you were there to remind me that love does excise
you were there when I awoke from the pills, I took thinking I fail at everything
the look I see is you imploring me to go on
I keep moving through life slowly while time goes by fast
then one night a fire caught, and the blaze destroyed everything
you were gone lost in the flames of memories past
I dug through Debrie hoping you survived crying and screaming for you not to be gone
covered in soot and mud I sit and cry wanting you here
my cherished item that helped me though this life gone forever in flames
how will I go on without my teddy bear to remind me that I was loved once

Crab Rangoon,
Your light and crispy exterior excite me when I see you. The steam billowing off you when you are fresh from the fryer. I like to tear you open. That crunch and pull ignites my salivary glands, knowing what awaits me on the inside. The sweet and tangy creaminess melts in my mouth with the crispy skin that sends the happy hormones to my brain. You are my one true crabby, creamy love. I smile at the thought of you, swoon at the sight of you, and delight in every bite of you. I look for you on every menu and forage for you at every buffet. Your pinched little puffed body beckons me closer, like a ray of sunshine to a dying plant. My love for you only grows with each encounter. I ardently await our next meeting.
Love,

I love Joy. It’s spontaneous, it’s new, it’s always unexpected, but it always feels so good.

I love Joy; it’s simple, not complicated; it doesn’t boast or brag; it’s just simply exhilarating.

I love Joy, the only time I don’t feel down. Joy feels like running through a field of flowers, being hugged for a very long time, and laughing so much that tears roll down your eyes. Joy is so beautiful. Even thinking about it brings a smile; there is no doubt about it. I think I may just share the love of my life. I don’t mind sharing because we all need Joy. It’s irreplaceable, unforgettable; it’s embedded in our hearts and minds. I love Joy, don’t you?

You never had a name, but you held pieces of my life like a time capsule strapped in with a faulty seatbelt.

You smelled like gas station slushies and the kind of freedom that only exists when you’re seventeen and think the world is stretching itself out just for you. Your black fabric interior was grayed with time, sticky with coffee spills and summer sweat of too many people crammed into a space meant for one. The same people who ripped you at the seams, the tearing of your undersides unheard through their mirthful laughter.

You groaned under the weight of my best friend, legs curled up as she ranted about boys who didn’t deserve her and dreams that felt just out of reach. You carried the ghosts of our giggles and screams, our half-sung lyrics shouted over static-filled speakers, our whispered confessions at 2 AM when the roads were empty and the only light came from flickering neon signs.

You were there the first time I drove without checking Google Maps, trusting muscle memory to take me where I needed to go. You watched me fumble for the right words when I sat in the driver’s seat next to him, my first almost-love, my first heartbreak before the heartbreak even happened. You were the only witness to the way I gripped the wheel too tight when he left, my knuckles white as if I could steer myself away from missing him.

You soaked in the silences, too. The nights I didn’t pick up the phone, the times I sat in the Macy’s parking lot alone, staring at the fog on the windshield like it held answers. The long drives to nowhere just to feel like I was moving, just to let the air rush in through the open windows and carry away whatever was pressing against my ribs.

And then, one day, I left you behind.

You stayed in a driveway that wasn’t mine anymore, watching someone else take the wheel, someone who didn’t know that your glove compartment held a crumpled movie ticket from the night I first realized I was happy, or that there was a tiny scar in the upholstery from where my friend stabbed a pen into the seat during an overdramatic retelling of a story. They wouldn’t know that I once sat in that seat, staring at my hands, trying to decide whether to take a leap or stay safe.

I wonder if you miss me. If you carry echoes of my youth in your worn-down cushions, if traces of my old dollar store perfume still linger in your faded fabric, if my laughter is still tucked into your seams. I wonder if you ever feel empty without us.

Because some days, when I pass a car that looks a little too much like you, I feel empty, too.

☕Oh how I love thee.

Just the thought of you makes me smile.

Your fragrance brings me pure glee.

I can only be apart from you for a short while.

☕ Joe, I really love you!

A cup of you that is!

Oh how I long for the sound of your brew.

I love the energy you give!

☕You keep me warm on cold nights.

Just one sip is all it takes!

If it’s a hot day I can get you iced.

I will cry real tears if my coffee machine breaks!

☕ You are called by many names.

Java, Espresso, even liquid gold.

When it comes to my coffee, I play no games.

Sipping a nice, hot cup of coffee will never get old.

☕You bring people together.

When you are around, it’s so easy to sit and chat.

I love having you near no matter the weather.

When I first wake up, I must have you stat!

☕A day without you truly makes me sad.

Some may even say they won’t survive the day without you!

Starting the day with you truly makes me glad.

If I wake up cranky, one sip of you makes me feel brand new!

☕I can bring you with me on the go.

Or I can simply enjoy you at home.

I will always love you, that much I know.

I will keep you with me no matter how far I roam.

☕You have always been there for me.

Through all my ups and downs.

Oh how I love thee coffee.

I will always keep you around.

I love my 1999 Little Blue Honda, Now it’s not the best little car and it has Many Flaws, but it’s a blessing in disguise, I was in need of a car and this car fell into my lap for $200 dollars, but it wasn’t that on my Anniversary this little car ran hot, and I was able to to get it fixed (temporarily) in the end the head gasket was blown and I got blessed and got it repaired, well I did a paint job, seat covers, dash covers and painted the wheels, but it wasn’t fixed it would need a Motor, and my job would take out $100 a week for 17 weeks, but Man it was WORTH IT, I ended up getting it back STRONGER than ever until the heat messed up, but honestly I didn’t care, the Turkster and I had a bond ( it’s my First Honda) yes it has it’s Flaw’s and No heat, but Man it’s got a Sunroof and a Aftermarket cd player, This Thursday will be 2 weeks I got a Charger, BUT I HAVE A BOND with my Honda, I feel complete with this car.I LOVE MY CAR.ITS BEEN A BLESSING IN DISGUISE

Dear Grandma’s House,

Every Christmas Eve you were my favorite place to go. I would come into the kitchen when I was a child and the smell of cookies would fill my nostrils. Then everyone I loved the most would greet me with hugs and kisses. I would go into the living room to put my present under the tree. Grandma always had a small tree with lots of presents. I would go into the kitchen for Christmas dinner and eat with my family. Then we would gather around in the living room. Grandma would pass out of the presents one by one and then we would take turns opening them. Even if grandma’s house didn’t have presents or a Christmas tree it wouldn’t matter. It is the memories attached to this place that I never want to lose. Grandma’s house is the only place in my life that has never changed. I always want to return here no matter what happens.

Within the embrace of weightless leaves bound together, I find solace,
A dream that welcomes me in the midst of my reality,
Transporting me to places imaginable yet terribly unlikely to be found.
As chaos ensues around me and emotions within me tangle among themselves,
Inviting that chaos within me,
My soul aches for easement, my mind longs for a place of calm.
Within the stories of another’s imagination, I travel,
And for a moment,
I am no longer conscious.
My soul is no longer here;
It has melded into the novels of my reading.
I become a character unbound by the laws of reality,
The wonder of such a journey is something I constantly seek,
Something that makes my heart no longer succumb to the grip of anxiety.
Oh, how I love to read.