(This poem, if it ever actually gets sent, would be sent via USPS to Julia's office) This is probably the most cowardly thing That I have done in a while. Selfish, too. Maybe vindictive, But at least I’m not in denial. It’s cowardly because I’m effectively anonymous Since I moved out of state. And selfish because without an address, This is a one-sided debate Where I get to vent and have my catharsis, And unless you throw this away, You just get to sit there And read what I have to say. It’s been over three years now. Time has flown I have 2 kids and am happier now And I know that means I should be grateful to you, But I’m still trying to find a way how. I still have dreams (or nightmares I guess) Of you, me, Pam and that last meeting. I remember the building, my dark little office And even the conference room seating. I remember in the office that morning, Pam was frowning. I almost asked why. Now I wonder what she would have said. I never imagined her problem was I. While Pam berated me like a child, My only sounds were the chair’s squeak And you sat there mostly silent, With input as cutting as it was meek. If I wasn’t blinded by trust, I would have realized sooner Pam wanted peons under her thumb. But I was blinded and I was deaf to the warnings. And God dammit, was I dumb. As I tried to write down all the ways you both tried to Control me, use me, and plunder me I knew it would take more than one poem to explain The ways you pulled the rug out from under me. And Julia, I know that you didn’t mean For that to be how things ended I know that you were genuinely upset, But I was genuinely offended. I felt hurt and lied to and used and cheated But overwhelmingly I felt That you had become one of my closest friends And with no preamble, you cut me out. Now that I’m out, I’ve realized I’m free To do more good than I ever could there. I can teach budgeting from the ground up And no one wonders when I’ll mention life insurance I can write in my blog. I can narrate my audiobooks. I can stop working 60 hour weeks But mostly, I can finally have meetings with my colleagues Without the PTSD This poem is a “you hurt me”, “I hate you” And “I hope you go to hell” But also an “I don’t mean that”, a “How’s your dog”, and an “I hope Sean is doing well” Please keep treating the Browns* well They are some of the best people on the planet And just so you know, I asked XYZ Co.* To not give Pam a single one of my clients. By: Stephanie Fritz
*Names have been changed
