Dear Daddy Jekyll,

I know what you did. I know why I was so terrified of you when I turned thirteen. I know why I lived in fear of some inexplicable death that loomed and waited to claim me at any moment. I know why the cutting and the vodka. I know why the panic attacks and the sleepless nights. I suspect it was probably just a terrible nightmare when I thought you came to my room and fucked me back then, but if it was a dream, I know I dreamed it for a reason. I think the reason was more than your nasty sexual perversions which you couldn't seem to hide. It was more than the inappropriate comments you wouldn't stop making to me. It was because of the things you did to me when I was little. The little girl shows me things. She won't stop showing me. The gig is up, you nasty bastard. I believe her. I believe her because I AM NOT YOUR WIFE. I never was. I have an actual spine.

-- the daughter you selfishly molested



Dear Sergeant Hyde,

Sometimes I wish you were still alive so I could knock your dick in the dirt. You disgraced yourself, your family and your uniform.

-- Rambo