I don’t know if you know this, but you have a way with me. You, unlike every other person I know, have the ability to say the exact thing I don’t want to hear at the exact time when it can hurt me the most. And I have been counseled to not release my anger towards you, but rather to give it to something else. And so I’m writing you a letter that isn’t to you; I hope you don’t mind if I don’t care if you read it or not.
Don’t look at me that way; I know the truth about your motives, and I don’t like them or trust them. It makes me upset sometimes that you act this way. But I can’t change you, and I don’t have the heart to try. I’ll pray about it, and be glad that I can, but you just get under my skin.
You don’t need to say a lot to make me mad. I tell you the truth, I am more angry around you then I am around anyone else. I don’t care about so-and-so, and I don’t want you to complain when I say that. I don’t want to be called names for saying the truth, I don’t want to be ridiculed for doing what I believe. So I write to you, but you will never receive the writing, because I have not told you what I want and who you are.
Do you understand? Is it you that I’m talking about? Can you even tell? Do you even care? Why do I try to be nice when all I receive in return is snake’s venom? Don’t act like a good little sheep; I can see your toothy grin and dark eyes.
I just wanted to say that I don’t need the drama, and I don’t want it. So please; just shut up.
Peace,
Beebes