I HATE PETER WHO IS IN MY CLASS

Dearest Peter,





You and I used to be the best of friends. Whatever happened to that? You won't even look at me in the halls anymore, much less speak to me.

Hell, that isn't even the worst thing about it. You are acting this way because I didn't want to tell you about the horribly painful thing that was going on in my life. I will call it "The Hunger."

I felt like I couldn't trust anyone with "The Hunger," much less a paranoid little shit like you. Thanks, Peter. You made my Middle School days miserable.

As you stopped talking, so did my other friends. I know you well, Peter. You may not do a whole lot of talking near me, but you do a whole lot of talking to them. Talking of awful things, knife words so they come to you and stop coming to me. I know how you work.

I know the chemicals that make up your brain. I've known you since I was three. You don't forgive and forget... You want revenge. You want to go down and bring everyone else with you.

I blame your Mom. The twisted, spazzy little shit person who is JUST LIKE YOU. Think about it. I got you that book you wanted for your B-Day when you said you really wanted it. Your mother made a "Family Decision" to make you not read it until you were thirteen. Who DOES that? I'm not surprised your dad had an affair. I think he is much happier with that other woman.

When your mom FINALLY got a divorce, she tried to get rid of anything that ever had to do with him. She died your little sister's hair DARK BROWN instead of that pretty, Alice in Wonderland blonde so she wouldn't look like her dad. I think your mom has serious mental problems.

You never wear color anymore. You used to be a super bright person, with pink gauchos and a white top. You don't ever wear anything but black.



Thanks, Peter. I hope you go bald.

- PO'd in Pennsylvainia