To All the Girls I've Loved Before;

Okay, so not all of you were that bad, and a handful of you were great in bed. But some--
to the one that wanted another girl, then a threesome, then became psychotic when the girl you wanted the threesome with figured your game out and she and I ended up together; you are a sociopath. When men have this personality disorder they often kill people at random and commit crime as casually as others go to the store. You just treat everyone in your life as chess pawns, and the only real one is you. I hope you're happy where you are in your still quite delusional life, and I hope your man is still blissfully ignorant of what you are.

To the one I divorced; I loved you. But you were far too gone into your cold world of food and barely controlled emotional chaos, all of it pity for yourself. I was so incredibly messed-up myself; I admit it-but when I left you I was running for my life, from you. You could not love. You still cannot love. I fear for our children living with you, still wanting those hugs and standing perplexed and hurt as you walk by obsessed with your day and whatever man or woman you're with and food and your art...if the law would support me-but it will not, as it does not most good fathers-I would take them in a heartbeat. You don't deserve their beauty, sweetness, and intelligence.
To the one in the zen life of money athletics and sex-you are one quiet, beautifully plain, sexually animalistic, selfish, completely self-absorbed, neurotic, paranoid woman. I hope you enjoy your life of silence, sweat, detached sex and order. I am pro-choice...but did you know that even though I feel women have the right to choose, your point of view was so far gone about it that I think of you as no better than a dispassionate paid murderer. Eloquence escapes me at the moment...except to say that the worst insult I know I can level at you is ultimately this...in the end, you were really pretty shallow.
To my dear wife; How many times I've wanted to completely skewer you in words as you have done me online when you thought I wasn't looking. You are such an emotional coward. How I love you, and then we have the mildest conflict and your passive-aggression, which is apparently identical to your fathers, comes out in cold silences. You're always the victim, aren't you? You're always the poor little girl being picked on. Everyone owes you an apology, and yet you of course never have to say you're sorry. How can you live behaving as if you're perfect and infallible on one hand and hating yourself on the other? I think you're locked in some stage of adolescence, because of many things, but namely how I feel I'm living with an irresponsible, surly, needy little girl. With the personal habits of a pig. Why is it that the first time I take time off from work after a month of 60-hour weeks I am the one who cleans house? Who cleans up a month or more of yours and other's messes? Why can't you accept that you're an ADULT, and a MOTHER? You don't have to be June Cleaver, you don't have to really do that much at all. But I'm starting to think you're terrified of being anything other than a coddled child, and you often get angry with me when I don't treat you like the baby you wish you were. You are not a baby. You are a woman, with responsibilities. Act like it.

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