When I thought that I was not enough I rendered myself vulnerable. Vulnerable to the lies that felt like admiration, being that vanity was my strong suite. Being considered special beyond merit occupied my sensibility of logic. He love me, he loves me not, they love me, they love me not projected possibilities of a connection within my worth. My worth, what does that intel. At one point in my life, it required me to be a good girl and to just go with the flow. To allow myself to be love bombed with words of affirmation and acts of service, because how could you not love me after all of that, right. Pint up moments of confusion and self-doubt. Am I being punked, where is Ashton, consumes my filtered emotions. Emotions of overwhelmed perception of a bond beyond expectation while trying to enforce self-love. I earned the self-esteem that I, at one point, lacked. I also learned the power of self-love and self-validation and that I can end up being my own kryptonite. Although I might not be everyone’s cup of tea, I now know that I am enough.

Dear Unsealed,
Dear Vicki.
My version of myself was always to strive for the best.
As I used to feel I was left behind by the rest
So, I would strive to write and be good
Just like I thought I should
My younger brother was always trying to be the king
As I walk around the house singing
I attended nursing school
And I found out that it was cool
Learning about medicine and our bodies
I still felt like nobody
I then attended business school
To not be a fool
Flunked marketing class
Writing a thesis on shopping at thrift stores
For name brand clothes for less
My thesis was 10 pages long
My heart and soul bore
The truth
But my marketing professor said I was uncouth
And the thesis was supposed to be about expensive stores
And the better clothes to be found at a higher price
Of indulging into capitalism of the rich
A stitch
In time
I switched
To journalism
As an ism
Of fun
In the sun
Then I still wanted to study more
So not to be a bore
I learned makeup artistry
To work in the film industry
Then I studied graphic design
On the first MAC in its time
Then I was not satisfied with just that
So, I sat
In computer classes for years
With blood, sweat, and tears
Working in all my fields at once
Multi-tasking a bunch
I still felt like I wanted more
To not be bored
I now write
I now create art
I now try to bite the bullet
At 75
Of peace, truth, love, and understanding of life.
Still fighting with my younger brother
In love with the Heritage Foundation and all those fools
And their short male tools
Of huge egos and lies
Not enough was my attempt to fulfill my dreams in Hollywood
I have done so much 24/7
Now I’m tired of all that arguing with my brother
We took different paths in life
At 75 I still write about life and strife
Honesty and equality for all
So, the decision is made in the shade
Of my golden years
Of laughter and tears
Art is life
Life is art
My brother with all his religious degrees
Finally admitted he knew about religion
But not medicine
As all the laws from his precious heritage foundation
Are passed to kill healthcare and all that medicine holds true
I love my brother as a human being in his own light
Not to create a negative light
Upon this prose of sheer delight
As play with my toys and live in lollipop land
Of cookies and creams in those land
Of dreams that never stop
My dreams spit them out
As I sleep at night
Despite fighting or flight
My fight for justice
Is still in flight to fight again
Never enough!
Or is it?
It is enough to continue my fight for justice, equality, understanding, and love as a humanitarian.
I asked Microsoft Copilot about this letter.
“This document is a heartfelt letter addressed to a past version of oneself, expressing feelings of inadequacy and the journey of personal growth over time.
• Struggles with Self-Worth: The author reflects on their feelings of not being enough despite pursuing various educational paths and careers, including nursing, business, and journalism. They recount experiences that contributed to their sense of inadequacy, such as failing a marketing class and feeling overlooked in their pursuits. 1 2
• Embracing Art and Activism: As the author aged, they found solace in writing, creating art, and advocating for justice and equality. They acknowledge their ongoing struggles, particularly with family dynamics, but ultimately declare their commitment to fighting for humanitarian causes.”
Style guidance compliance is 100 percent by the Prowriting aid app.

Intensified whispers of life’s uncertainty. Desperate inner standing conveying braveness. Hard with no give, gives way to the tramples of urgency undiagnosed. Abstract visualization of informative display. Periodical division imitating strength when all I want is a shoulder to lean on. Shackled limbs mimicking protection while a handheld gesture offers direction. Direction to mercy’s grace and will. The will to fight beyond my optimism for within optimism I blame doubt. Pain numbed awareness, confusing the severity of an affect, that white lining of a barrier breach. Gradual adjustments of healing and hope. My tower moment, my introspection, my change.

Dear Unsealed,
Breathe in, breathe out. Life is a rose. Sometimes one gets pricked on the finger by the thorns as you pick up the rose to smell the scent. You learned to put a band-aid on your cut and learned to take the band aid off and laugh.
This is beginning of what I would tell my younger self.
I see you, Vicki.
You were shy at a young age, yet bold enough to run out in the front yard shirtless at three years old. Your mom was incredibly angry. You told her you didn’t have any titties yet. This seems that my personality carried me through life. At one moment, I am an empath introvert. Then the next moment you are writing protest songs and standing up for humanity with a pen and computer.
I see you, Vicki.
You were always drawing, writing, and playing music from a very immature age. You are still an empath. How has that worked out? You attracted narcissistic little boys. You went to college beginning in the 70s. You studied everything I could study. You began writing professionally again in 2023. I now see red flags in relationships. I have learned to love myself. You learned to set boundaries.
I see you, Vicki.
You were always a dreamer, hanging out with your imaginary friend, Teddy Bear, singing, and at times, you very depressed. Now, you know how to deal with your feelings by using critical thinking skills and the core values therapy your therapist sent you. I will tell my younger self, “Don’t be so boy crazy! Think expansively, go for the gusto in journalism and education, don’t let the narcissistic nuts get you down, and stay creative.”
Breathe in, breathe out. Life is a rose. Sometimes one gets pricked on the finger by the thorns as you pick up the rose to smell the scent. You learned to put a band-aid on your cut and learned to take the band aid off and laugh.
I say to my younger self those core values my grandma taught me were my guide throughout my life. However, I didn’t always follow the advice given to me by my grandma Carrie Soleta.
I see you, Vicki.
You had so much faith as in the story about the grain of a mustard seed and that phrase your grandma taught you held you together throughout your life. The story about the “faith of a mustard seed” is found in the Bible, in Matthew 17:20. In this verse, Jesus tells His disciples that even faith as small as a mustard seed can move mountains, emphasizing the incredible potential of even the tiniest amount of genuine faith. The mustard seed, known for being one of the smallest seeds, symbolizes how something so insignificant can grow into something powerful and transformative.
You were naïve, funny, and bold. You loved writing, art, music, and reading at an incredibly youthful age. You would sit for hours playing your piano and singing those blues from long ago. Leadbelly and Bessie smith were among your favorites. You grew up in a home full of music. You were taught to like all forms of music at a different age.
I see you, Vicki, in your music class in middle school at 14 years old. President John F. Kennedy was assassinated on November 22, 1963, while riding in a motorcade in Dallas, Texas. It was a pivotal moment in U.S. history, leaving a lasting impact on the nation. That must have been such an emotional and unforgettable moment, Vicki. To go from the joy and rhythm of singing to the gravity of that announcement was a stark contrast that deepened the impact. Your immediate reaction was to burst out in tears spoke volumes about how much JFK meant to you and your family. His charisma and vision touched many, and it sounds like his loss felt deeply personal to you.
It’s extraordinary how those memories stay with you, etched in time. Vicki, I see you!
Another pivotal moment was your broken right ring finger. Your mom dropped you off at middle school one morning. She warned you not to go visit your boyfriend because if you did, she would find out. You stepped out of the car. As your mom drove off you waved, pretending to walk into the school. When she had turned the corner and was out of sight you turned around, walked down the steps of the school and hurried over to your boyfriend’s house. You hugged him and you guys laughed so hard about you sneaking off to his house. You looked at your watch. Oh no, you will be late for class. So, you ran to school, not aware of your surroundings, causing you to run into an open pickup door. You caught yourself with your right hand, only to discover you broke your right ring finger when you crashed into the door. You walked the half block to school crying your eyes out. When you got to the school to see the school nurse she called your mom. Your mom picked you up shortly after the call. You stepped into her car, “Mom, so sorry. Please don’t be mad. I hurt so much.” She replied, “I told you I would find out if you went to your boyfriends house.” You replied, “Mom, you didn’t have to wish it to hurt so much!”
You broke the same right ring finger at least four more times. You were 14 and clumsy.
I see you, Vicki.
That one day you disobeyed your mom was a year of one broken finger. You had major surgery on your squashed and very broken finger. The surgeons told you they wanted to use you as a guinea pig for a new operation. You had almost completely repaired your finger. They told you they had to cut a nerve to your brain from your right ring finger. They had no idea about the end results. So, for one year I learned to write with my left hand as my right ring finger was repaired and a cast applied so I wouldn’t break it again and protect it while it healed. You called it your right-hand boot.
You now know the result of your nerve severance of your right ring finger is more than likely the reason you hold your computer mouse upside down. There were no computers in 1964.
You drove your teachers nuts in graphic arts classes, but you managed to get them off your back by telling them to back off. You asked them if they had an issue with your work, so, they let you be.
You were way too boy crazy. You hired your neighbor to iron clothes on the day it was your turn to do your chores. Sue, your neighbor loved to iron and told you she needed money to buy a toy, you hired her for the next week. You got away with that for two months. I would sit on your parents’ bed reading musician magazines and playing music. I was supervising Sue. I shared my stipend with her. We were caught. I was grounded.
I tell you that it was very entrepreneurial. Of course, women were not considered in those terms in 1964. Women were 2nd class citizens in 1964.
One incredibly sad moment was in 1966. You were in high school. You dressed in bell bottoms and crop tops. You straightened your curly hair to look like Cher. You wore Indian moccasins to a party one night. Everyone welcomed you. You were given a beer, but you didn’t drink but you sipped it. The three football boys sitting on the sofa looked at the other two football boys in the room, and then they grabbed you yelling at you calling you an Indian squaw whore. They grabbed you, dragging you into the bedroom. They raped you one by one as they forced you to not move holding you down. You weighed 100 pounds at 16. The following Monday, you were stared at, called names. You were bullied throughout high school with Indian squaw whore. In the late 1960s women were 2nd class citizens. It was always the girl’s fault if they were raped. Men were told it was okay. That followed you throughout your life. You could not tell anyone. Now, I tell you at 16, men can be useless and mean, and their tools are nothing but their pee tools.
Your dad sent you to study nursing school in 1968. You graduated from an LVN program in 1969.
Another pivotal moment was beginning college in the 1970s. You could not wait to study everything. Pandoras box was opened, and you were Tinkerbell exploring all the merchandise. You studied Business and union management. Then you studied Journalism.
You flunked marketing because your thesis in business was about name brand clothing labels and how they were the best to buy. Your thesis was about shopping at thrift stores and buying name brand clothes that were name brand clothes but were half the price of Neiman Marcus. It was an exceedingly long thesis with descriptive adjectives, verbs, and nouns that sent your marketing professor into a rage. He gave me a grade of F minus. You switched to a journalism major. There was no Fox faux news back then.
You studied computers and makeup artistry in the 1980s. the 1980s were a trying time for you, you worked at the LA Times and for some reason you turned down the date with the rich guy and went on a date with a guy you had nothing in common with except sex. You were gullible and had way too many hormones. One night at the beach in the dude’s van and you thought you were in love. Despite the differences of cultures as you were from North Hollywood, and he was from South Central Los Angeles. You had two gorgeous babies that weighed ten pounds each. One was born in 1983. The other was born in 1987. You divorced the narcissistic South Central LA dude in 1989. It was a horrible divorce. He never forgave you and still holds grudges against you as he is a narcissist, liar, cheat, and now MAGA. So, how did we get together? He was a gun-loving fool, you were a flower child and political activist, and humanitarian. This has affected you even in old age, as he has tried to turn your grandchildren and sons against you as you stand today. The main lesson you learned from this unique relationship was that you did not go to work at the LA Times to get married or have babies. You love your two now grown men very much, but unfortunately the gun loving MAGA dad has more influence than your empath, creative personality. As he called you, weak and too caring. My oldest son told me I never did anything in my life because I don’t have money. He will ignore me until I make money with my art, writing, and music. His dad and his brother will find something else wrong with me when I make more money. So, you turned it over to God, because it’s too painful to execute your crying all day every day. Breath in, breathe out as the thorns on the stem of the rose hurt and bleed to the point, I had to search for the band aid to patch it up.
You married again, but this time a Yaqui and Chumash Native American dude. You divorced him because of domestic violence in April 2000. You now remember he went off his rocker and became extremely mentally ill as it was hereditary in his family.
You then became involved with an Italian dude named Barberini. He was much older than you. You followed him to Texas leaving your computer job which you would have retired with a good salary and benefits. You guys broke up. Then the Texas cowboy, a University of Texas political degreed narcissist whose boots were even orange. Then you guys broke up in 2016. The morning, he told you he saw demons upon waking up, and you saw angels, was the final day you ever saw him. Your friend picked you up and you spent the week with her before you left to go back to California.
You moved back to LA and kissed the ground when you stepped off Amtrak at Union Station.
Flying monkeys were everywhere as your ex-orange boots nutty mentally ill dude called all your friends.
You shed oceans of tears.
“The term “flying monkeys” in the context of a narcissistic breakup refers to individuals who, knowingly or unknowingly, aid the narcissist in their manipulative tactics. The phrase originates from The Wizard of Oz, where the Wicked Witch’s flying monkeys conducted her bidding. Similarly, in relationships, these “flying monkeys” might spread rumors, gaslight, or otherwise support the narcissist’s narrative.
Narcissists often recruit flying monkeys by playing the victim, using charm, or exploiting relationships. These individuals may genuinely believe they are helping or may be manipulated into taking the narcissist’s side. Their actions can amplify the emotional distress of the person targeted by the narcissist.
Understanding this dynamic can be crucial for healing and setting boundaries after a breakup.” ‘As per http://www.veywellmind.com’
This has happened to you with your family, your lovers, your marriages, and some of your fake friends.
You now have had a therapist since 2019.
I am now at 75, creating art, music, and writing again.
I will tell you about my younger self who did not know who you were as a human being for almost your whole life. You loved your teddy bear as your imaginary friend as a child. You have had dreams since birth that have come true. Your grandma Carrie visited you for ten years after she died. You covered up your feelings and scars by dancing on tables and sometimes drinking too much. You no longer drink nor dance on tables. You are learning you are a creative introvert with spurts of extrovert activities and then being a recluse as you are now okay with who you are. You are learning your boy craziness was absurd. Boys are just human beings and have severely damaged egos about whose tool is bigger than the next guy, it’s almost a comedy of errors except now our president is a narcissistic fool and the short tooled damaged ego dudes oversee America.
I have complex PTSD from too many narcissistic relationships and had a meltdown after the election. I spoke with the therapist two times a week for three weeks.
Women are 2nd class citizens again. Bigotry is rampant. My DNA is mixed with three African tribes, Irish, Kerry County, Ireland, London, Indios Mexico, Native American Choctaw, Mediterranean Italian and Spanish, Coptic Egyptian, Red Sea, Asian, and last, but not least, a human being.
You have learned you are a humanitarian, dreamer psychic, empath creative introvert, and to love yourself despite ugly men that have tried to make you into another person by belittling you and sending flying monkeys to your friends.
The final pivot in your life was getting old, excepting your white hair, and not chasing after men. Keep creating with all your music, writing, and art. You have health issues that include kidney disease, parathyroid disease, diverticulitis, and three old spinal fractures. Your diet is lactose free and gluten free except you can eat pan dulce and mozzarella cheese. Mozzarella cheese is from Italy and pan dulce from Spain/Mexico.
I would like to tell you other stories, but you have lived a long time. That’s for a future story.
Breathe in, breathe out. Life is a rose. Sometimes one gets pricked on the finger by the thorns as you pick up the rose to smell the scent. You learned to put a band-aid on your cut and learned to take the band aid off and laugh.
Style Score85%
Style Guide Compliance92%
I EDITED THIS FOUR TIMES. I EDITED IT TWICE IN MICROSOFT WORD AND TWICE IN PRO WRITING AID. WHY DID I DO THIS BECAUSE THIS IS WHAT I DO. I THEN HAVE TO SAY TO MYSELF, “WHOA, VICKI, YOU GOT IT, CHILL!”

Dear Unsealed,
I wrote a song.
LOST IN THE SHADOWS FINDING THE LIGHT

Dear Unsealed,

Sunrise paints the western sky,

Colors burst as day draws nigh.

A gentle breeze begins to blow,

Whispering secrets soft and low.

Oh, the world awakens, fresh and new,

A symphony of life, for me and you.

Birdsong fills the morning air,

A vibrant tapestry beyond compares.

Dew-kissed petals, softly gleam,

Reflecting sunlight, like a dream.

The world is waking, one by one,

Beneath the warmth of the rising sun.

Oh, the world awakens, fresh and new,

A symphony of life, for me and you.

Birdsong fills the morning air,

A vibrant tapestry beyond compares.

With every sunrise, hope takes flight,

Chasing shadows from the night.

A brand new day, a chance to start,

With open heart and joyful heart.

Oh, the world awakens, fresh and new,

A symphony of life, for me and you.

Birdsong fills the morning air,

A vibrant tapestry beyond compares.

The day unfolds, its beauty bright,

A world of wonder, pure delight.

Lost in the shadows, searching for light,

A path undefined, a future unclear.

Doubt clouded my vision, dimming the day,

But hope whispered softly, guiding the way.

I’m rising above, reaching for more,

Unveiling my strength, unlocking the door.

With every step forward, a new lesson learned,

My spirit is soaring, my purpose is earned.

The journey is long, with trials and fears,

But resilience is born from overcoming tears.

I stumble and fall, but I rise once again,

Embracing the challenges, learning to mend.

I’m rising above, reaching for more,

Unveiling my strength, unlocking the door.

With every step forward, a new lesson learned,

My spirit is soaring, my purpose is earned.

The past is a teacher, the present a guide,

The future’s a canvas, where dreams reside.

I paint my own story, with colors so bright,

Creating my destiny, shining my light.

I’m rising above, reaching for more,

Unveiling my strength, unlocking the door.

With every step forward, a new lesson learned,

My spirit is soaring, my purpose is earned.

Soaring, my spirit is soaring,

My purpose is earned, my light is pouring.

I wrote this today

Along life’s highway

As I walk through the shadows in the dark

I do not fear the moonlit night

I arise in the morning light

Thankful I can see the light

Shining through my window shades

The shadows dissipate from the dark

It is not too late

to open the gate

To watch the sunlight spark!

The shades open up

To see my shadow fade

Score 65%

New years are meant for starting over
Beginning clean and new
Unless you’re of the queer persuasion
And your government’s against you
Then blossoming becomes a struggle
As you strain simply to bloom,
Crushed under heels of persecution
Swept under rug by bigoted broom
The seeds we sow in ‘25
Require roots down deep, robust
If we’re to thrive and survive,
Under a dictator we can’t trust
To blossom sounds lovely indeed
But queer friends we must burst,
Break barriers and far exceed
Hoping for best, planning for worst

89%

If I Warned Me
If I warn of heartbreak
What risks will I take?
If I warn of vulnerability,
I’ll then conceal what others see.
If I warn of uncertainty,
Will I, too timid, ever be?
I’ll choose to live in mystery
Betwixt the fiery sparks that flee
In the rhythm of life’s spontaneity
Sans warnings from the likes of me

100%

Dear Unsealed,
I do not know where to begin but I will begin to write as my subconscious dictates the story. I grew up when women did not have rights. Now in 2025 we are back to the same male patriarchal society. I felt very misunderstood throughout my whole life. As an empath and creative personality, I still feel misunderstood around judgmental people
I was led to believe that the man held authority over everything. Back in the fifties white male misogynist pigs dominated it. Now we are back to this same idiocrasy of white men wanting to dominate everyone and everything.
I, and other women were taught to get married, have three babies, buy a house, and serve your man cocktails when he gets home from work. Some households were extremely strict with their women. Women were not allowed to buy a house or buy a car until the 1970s. now we are back here again with white male dominance.
I was married at 20 for a brief period. The marriage was annulled due to incompatibility. The thoughts of some families were to marry their daughters off to a man to take care of them. If one is raised in this culture, you either accept it or rebel against the whit male patriarchy. I rebelled.
I am going to make this into a noticeably short story. My message to women of every culture do not let your man dominate you. Rebel against such nonsense. Men who want to control are very insecure and have severe mental issues of paranoia.
I would not have married the car race guy if my mom had not insisted, I needed to get married to fulfill her dream. I briefly accepted the mentality of that era. I was always in a fight or flight mode for many years.
I suggest to younger ladies do not succumb to the lunacy of a male patriarchal society.
My father was not like that. He wanted me to learn mechanical work. My mom was oh no I could not learn mechanics as I was prima donna girl. My dad and mom had an argument about that issue.
My philosophy is do not let anyone push you into marrying just to get married. Love is love. I am an ally of the LGBTQ people.
I now instruct people: we are one human being species with many cultures, ethnicities, languages, different skin pigmentation, and personalities.
What I learned through my years from 1949 to 2025 is do not let a man talk you into having his babies, especially if you just began to date. That is a red flag of dominance and how the misogynist sees your worth as a woman. I say block him on social media, refuse his phone calls, and ignore him if you see him out and about. Watch for red flags of narcissism in every relationship. If you are the narcissist then crumble the story, throw it away because a narcissist cannot change. If you are an empath, then stay as far away from the narcissist as you can. If you are not either of those personality types, then take heed to watch for red flags to prevent an abusive relationship.
My advice is to focus on your career, go to college, and refuse to acknowledge people who condescend you as a human being. Walk away from a future abusive relationship.
I was boy crazy at ten years old. I read teen magazines and idolized boys in the band. I matured young, as I began puberty at age ten. My advice to me would be to focus on writing for the teen magazine instead of being google eyed over the cuties in the band.
As of now I am 75 years old. I accepted a coffee date with an old guy. I told him someday soon. I have known him for two years. I want platonic relationships and at this age there is no intention of anything but friendship.
This concludes this short story, focusing on one aspect of my life among many others. I have a lot of stories to tell. I shall write them all one day. Perhaps I should include the X-rated too.
I have survived all those relationships as I have learned that I did not always make the right choices. As one grows up to maturity you learn to appreciate the times you made the correct choices and to always remember the consequences of making the wrong choices.

If you feel misunderstood, then analyze the situation or walk away.
Peace everyone!
Be yourself everyone!

Dear Unsealed,
I love the smell of the ocean.
I love to feel my toes in the sand.
It is a potion
Of a notion
As I walk upon this mountainous land
Of sand and sea and valleys
And alleys
Of sandcastles built upon the sand
Of our America land.
I cried today,
Along my paths highway
Of illusions
Of delusions
Of lies spewing from control freaks
Of tweakers and tweaks,
Of I just want to sit on the shore
Forevermore.
Look at the ocean.
Look at the sky,
Of notions
And potions.
I pray for peace to calm the turmoil
Of dictators and liars in high places,
That creates turmoil and hate and boils,
Of ugliness in all spaces.
I carve my peace of calm
On the beach,
To reach prayers of songs
To the universe to bring peace
As the calm after the storm
As the fisher in the boat of life,
Not of strife.
I sit on the shore,
Forevermore.
To smell the salty air, and the cries of the seagulls
As they fly up above
My head.
I see the ocean.
I see the beach,
Of I love the smell of the ocean
I love to feel my toes in the sand.
It is a potion,
Of a notion
As I walk upon this mountainous land
Of sand and sea and valleys
And alleys
Of sandcastles built upon the sand
Of our America land.
I cried today,
Along my paths highway
Of illusions
Of delusions
and potions.
As peace flows through my body
As I sit on the shore forevermore
To embrace the ocean
As a potion.
I love you my retreat
Away from mean peeps.
A retreat from hate,
Debate,
To relate,
We are all a part of earth,
Before birth and after birth
To death of all.
I pray we all learn,
The ocean way,
To yearn,
For love and truth.
I love you, ocean of dreams,
And schemes to cherish your embrace
Of romance
From birth
Tio my ashes
Are spread in the love
Forevermore
Upon the shore.

PEACE AND LOVE CONQUERS EVIL!

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)

Your perky aroma pops me out of bed
Preventing stabby headaches in my head

I get to work each day on time
Before the late bell dares to chime

And with your spunky caffeine kick
I rarely, if ever, call in sick

On days my nerves are worn and frail
You’re there to comfort without fail

Hot, roasted beans all warm and toasty
Reminding me I love you the mosty

Dear Fear,

You creep in shadows, whispering low, a voice warning me not to show the love I hold, the truth I bear, instead to seek healing in God’s prayer.

You paint the world in black and white, warning me to hide and not to fight. You say the way I love’s not right. That I’m standing in darkness instead of light.

But Fear, I see your twisted game; you thrive on silence and grow from shame. You feed on doubt and plant despair, yet I refuse to live there.

For love is love, and I will be free. No hate can steal my soul from me. I won’t shrink back or hide in disguise. Rather, I’ll meet the world with open eyes.

So go ahead, lurk and loom, for I’ll fill the dark with light and I’ll bloom. I will face your storm with strength and a love so fiercely bold and true that not even you can break through.

Goodbye, Fear, you’ve lost today. I choose to love. I choose to stay.

Sincerely,

Me.
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