To Whom It May Concern

again, not quite a poem.

To Whom It May Concern,

I am a living soul with a heart-- beating ever so precisely to the rhythms of my life. I

have a mind, separate from my physical body, which wanders into the cracks of the outside world astounded by some, silenced by others. The best battles i have are with myself, battles which are deserved when they are won because I defeat my own will with my will. My pain is debilitating, my joy euphoric-- and i wouldn't have it any other way. I am my only true friend for I can never deceive myself in fear of finding myself out-- which is inevitable. I love profoundly and hate profusely. Although my anger is engulfing, my patience is eternal. My essence is real for I feel it pumping vigorously through every vein. My heart, although filled with burden and despair, exuberates love wherever it can, as if the pain hasn't tainted or exhausted it at all. I am a living soul, who in essence will never die.

Yours Truly,

        K.