Dear Narcissist,

For the next two minutes I would like

For you to keep your mouth hung open

That’s right

Open

Most people would think I want you

To shut this portal down

But I know better

I don’t think it’s possible to close something so enormous

So keep it wide open

Jaw to the floor

So that maybe when my words fall on deaf ears

Some of my words could fall into the void

That always has things to throw back at me

Despite your pride being too thick to swallow

And somehow those words could form

Into thoughts

And those thoughts could maybe create some atom of understanding

A girl still has to hope doesn't she?

 

But until that century passes

And your deathbed gives you an ounce of clarity

Please give me two minutes of your precious time

Please

 

Oh but before I do

I’d appreciate If you could step off your soapbox first

Because of how dirty your shoes are

Black and crusted with God knows what

Yet how pressed are your slacks

As if you used the angriest iron

To burn your pant legs into submission

Telling them that their wrinkles are their sin and not yours

Telling them that they aren’t worth their price tag

With every puff of steam

Every gust of hot, blistering and condescending air

You tell them there’s no other way

They forced your hand

They gave you no choice

They enticed you to put your hand on the iron and made you pull it across their writhing body

 That being belted and bound to your growing waist

Every day for five years

Was the only way to show they loved you

That covering your aging skin and achy tired knees was the only purpose they served

That was all they were good for

 

But maybe in some universe

Some alternate reality

You believe this is the only way to go to work

You believe that the world swallowed your jeans

Your sneakers

They swallowed your best shirt and tie

And you were left only in rags

When the truth is

 

You were naked and weak

 

And you came up to her and ripped off the little bravery she had left

And you complained when her torn sleeves didn’t fit your arms

Pulsing with frustration

And her pants were too wrinkled

From too many late nights

Those shoes were crafted by angels and you took those too

You shoved your feet in and broke through the toe of each loafer

And you cursed that she had the audacity to even buy cheap loafers

 

Well news flash

I’m done being ironed every Tuesday

And The world doesn’t owe you a new pair of shoes

Nor does it owe you the right to a throne you only keep warm for someone else

You curse the day you met her

You curse the day you married her

Wishing away with all your strength

The day I was brought into the world

So I hope one day you feel naked again

I hope your shoes are taken from you

Your shirt no longer useful

Your pants burnt to pieces in the fire of your hatred

And your skin shivering at how cold the prison you locked yourself in is

Barren

Alone and afraid

As you finally begin to wonder

Why we kept our clothes from our father

Hope this letter finds you well

Hope you found it before you fell

Sincerely,

The Daughter of Your Former Majesty