It's a series of me describing how I wrote letters, to impossible friendships, to potential homes, to lovers, to past traumas, and drenched my heart out a lot of times.. but never received one back: and maybe that's okay. I want to write and speak about people, speak about them raw but there are people who'd done so wrong to me, that it seems like I shouldn't give them a chance to be alive in any of my art, "but darlin' you made a poet cry, you made an artist bleed, so expect yourself to be shown, striped naked by her eyes. "