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Dear McDonalds, I took my kids to the McDonalds location on Flatbush Avenue at The Atlantic Mall today. I never go to your restaurant, because my kids normally don't eat fast food. However, we had a snow day today, and I wanted to give them a treat. Jashana, the shift manager, was very kind and took our order. It was around 11 am  when we entered your establishment. We sat down to eat in a booth. All of a sudden a homeless man (he identified himself as "a bum") entered the restaurant. "I'm a bum. I'm a fucking bum right?!" He screamed at the customers. It was truly unsettling. My kids and I tried to ignore him as we ate our food. Despite our efforts to enjoy our food, the man persisted in harassing Jashana and the other customers. He screamed at this innocent woman behind the counter saying "when you go home, you suck your man's dick! I know you do." Now, my children are six and eight years of age. They don't know what a blow job is, but after we exited the restaurant my eight-year-old asked me what "sucking a dick" meant. I didn't anticipate having that [...]

I opened the door for you. I'm holding it ajar with my body, and ushering you inside with my right hand; it's an invitation for you to be yourself. You don't have to pretend to be someone else, because who you are is beautiful. I won't ask you to change for me. I like you the way you are. That's why you are my friend. And I appreciate how similar we are and also how vastly different. We come from disparate universes, but I still love you, because you are you. I can see the light shining inside your eyes. They are small pebbles but they sparkle in the dark night. I want to look into them again and smile when I do it. I'm here to tell you that you matter. I'm standing in front of you telling you the honest truth, that you are incredible and you can. You can do that thing you're afraid of doing, but you want to do so badly. I believe in you as much as I believe in me. I see myself in you, and I also see how we make each other's lives better. There are so many things I want [...]

I have too many questions and no answers; that's what life is about. I remember sitting in elementary school in the fifth grade, quietly raising my hand hoping that I would get called on, because I knew I had the right answer. It was devasting when Mrs. Gumbs called on someone else, because I knew my answer was correct. Time passed by, but my passion to speak the right answer never disappeared. I sat in 8th grade English class with my hand held high waiting to express my favorite beat poet's name:Lawrence Ferlinghetti. I can feel the stiffness in my arm from waiting, and I'm not longer 13, I'm 37. My worth isn't predicated on whether I know the right answer, but I believed it was at the time. When my hand stopped flying up in high school, it was hard. When my confidence dropped, it was difficult. I wasn't mastering pre-calculus and I couldn't raise my hand anymore with confidence. I had more questions than answers and my feet were what I was looking at more than the teacher's gaze. In college my heart pounded when I raised my hand, even if I was certain my answer was correct. I was [...]

My thoughts fly. 57. Coffee. 2000. Sometimes they crawl into the crevices of my heart, those words, feelings, truths and I want to hide from the rush of adrenaline. If I can't see you, you can't see me. Logic is something that we use when it's convenient. Emotions have capes that allow them to fly wherever they please. One day I'll stand before you and open that door so you can see inside me. That door opens so infrequently. It's usually under construction. People knock but I pretend like I'm not home. For you I'll open the door. Only you.

  I don't like to weigh myself because numbers are depressing. When I was in high school I ranged from weighing 110 lbs to 120 lbs. I was super skinny. People used to ask me if I ate. And I did eat, I was just anxious all the time and eating was a challenge. I never had an eating disorder but I did vomit bile in the mornings during my senior year at F.H. LaGuardia High School before I went off to school. Well, actually that's not how the routine went exactly. I'd wake up, feel like my heart was going to explode out of my chest, and I was scared to open my eyes. But I made myself do it. I was immediately nauseated by the influx of (what I didn't know then was) cortisol and stress hormones. I threw up bile until my stomach settled. Then I ate oatmeal, which my mom made me and I did mindfulness meditation guided by Jon Kabat-Zinn where he told me how to be a mountain. With Jon's guidance I was able to face the day. In college I gained 15 lbs, except not in Freshman year, it was in Sophmore year, [...]

I talk to you in my dreams. You're here with me. We sit down in two armchairs across from each other. I can hear you. But you have to go. So I'll write you a note on top of these sausages in this takeout box. But ink doesn't work on the sausages. You've already left and I'll find you again in another scene. It's so hard to hear because the trumpets are blaring outside in that large open field. I forgot to feed the cats. I better get home. I'm going to run through this forest until I get there. Only, it's not a forest, it's actually a sewer system. I'm underground and there are rats everywhere. My feet are filthy. I see a ladder, if I hold onto it, it'll turn into a hot air ballon. I'm flying now, and I'll get home in 20 minutes if this balloon goes where I think it's going. I'm going to let go of the balloon now, so I can fall to the floor of my bedroom. I'll close my eyes tight so I don't feel the drop. My neighbor sits with me on the bed and taps my forehead, doing acupressure [...]

  My mind is scrambled eggs. I just ate poutine. I have too much going on and I can't keep up with everything. I'm dehydrated. I need to focus so badly but it seems impossible.  

I defined my significance by how much you noticed me, when in fact I am here regardless. I scream and I can hear myself even if you're holding your ears. Nothing will change unless you let go and look me in the eyes. Tell me I meant nothing to you, because from your actions that is what I feel. I'm not lonely. I'm content in seeing myself for who I am. My invisibility is subjective to you. My existence is not predicated upon your approval. I want to shout "you're a bad person!" But that's not the truth. You are just blind. I'm still beautiful.

I have this spark and nobody can take it away from me. I'm a writer, it's what I do. It doesn't matter if anyone acknowledges my talent, because I know that I can write. Sometimes I doubt myself; we all do. Doubt doesn't make my talent go away. Doubt cloaks my talent. Doubt hides the fact that I can write. The fact remains - I am a writer and my words make magical imprints on a page. They dance and punch people in the face sometimes. My words are real, true, tearful and happy, but not all at once. Nobody can take my words away from me. You have a spark. Your spark makes you you. No matter how hard they try, nobody can take that spark away from you. Dance, sing, play video games or take computers apart. You are good at any of those things or all of them. Love your spark. Realize your talent and keep it close. It's real. You're real.  

Are you listening? I find that I say things and people don't listen to me. I don't know if this is a recent phenomenon or cultural one. I think it's the latter. It seems that people are talking and others are not listening to them. Think about it; when someone is talking to you are you listening or are you waiting for your chance to interject? I struggle with waiting for my turn because I have ADHD. I work very hard to try to listen to what the person on the other end is saying to me. Sometimes I fail and I interrupt them. It frustrates me and most likely it frustrates them. I don't want to tell you what to do. I don't need to tell you what to do. I'm going to tell myself what to do. Sarah, stop waiting to speak and just listen. What is the person you are with saying to you? What do you hear? Reflect back to them what they just said to you. Maybe if I become a better listener people listen to me.