Dear Stepfather, For my entire life I grew up with a deep resentment for you. It plagued my thoughts, my actions, every single tick of the clock was a reminder of no matter how far I was I just could NOT escape. A child, who's own mother scared to stand between a 6 foot monster and 3 foot plushie. As I grew old the resentment grew stronger like the tap root of neem tree. The resentment was buried, though I sure was not free. I searched for answers some found in light others found beneath the shadowy depth of the tree canopy. After many years of thought against this allegorical tree; The only way to maintain the light was to eliminate what created the darkness. I festered and brewed planning on how I would train and train until one day I could return and muster the strength to destroy that beautiful tree's canopy as many times as you did mine. The ticking resentments returned though this time full of vitriol and spite. Though after spending all this time with this allegorical tree, with the deepest strongest taproot, I realized that nothing would ever hurt the canopy, not only that, I began to recognize the beauty and respite the darkness and cool shade provided. In essence the entire time I had been resenting all the things he had done, I was turning into a tree myself, however this time my taproot was not a deep seated resentment, but one of nurturing, compassion and respect. The last thing I wrote this man was: "I will train until one day no matter how long it takes, I will inflict the damage you had inflicted on me... If for only you had not taught me that through deep suffering comes an even deeper growth. I am sorry for whatever you went through in your life in order to hate so deeply, you don't deserve that and you are loved at the very core at least of being human. I no longer harbor that same desire to inflict damage back. Thank you for making me a stronger person, this will be the last time we correspond." ~A true letter with some personal details omitted. It was originally slam poetry. I have been through trauma and I have experienced pure bliss. My voice, my true voice can eloquently capture pain, joy, enthusiasm, hope, despair, hate and love. My true voice however is not for me. It is for me to split apart like a jig-saw puzzle and distribute a piece to all I meet. Maybe that way, there won't be so much silence in the world, a world where everyone has a voice achievable when we all share ours.