Dearest Hollywood

Oh, my dearest Hollywood,

I wait for your reply.

Man, I hate you Hollywood,

I think you ought to die.

I think that you should shrivel up

For making children cry.

I wish that you would take novels seriously,

To take some pride in your work and thought

Instead of kissing, sex, and gory scenes;

Just choosing actors ‘cuz they’re “hot.”

I wish that you would take this to point,

Instead of shooting moot

Because if that’s all you do all day,

You’re dumb and rude to boot.

I need you to listen to me,

And all the other fans,

Listen to the four-year-olds,

They hold their mothers’ hands.

They see the signs and beg their moms,

“Ooh, a movie! Oh mum, can we go see?”

“I’m sorry dear,” she then will say,

Because of course it isn’t ‘G.’

Now I’m not saying it’s good to let your children

Do what ever they please

The point I make is not for you,

But to rest my own unease.

I can’t believe some of the roles

You give the children there

A shooting then, a killing now,

That’s too much for them to bear.

I probably should get to the point,

Although it’s not of children’s roles,

It’s to make you all aware

Of the role you chose.

You chose to make good novels bad

To make the plotlines crud

You ruin newfound families,

And drag them through the mud.

“If someone makes this much money

Over paper and some ink,

We could make a ton with film!”

All the producers think.

Stop ruining my favorite books!

You think you have the right?

To take my imagination away,

To stab it in the night?

The reason which I stand to say

That night is when you do it

Is because you don’t focus on details,

If it’s too hard, you say “screw it,

We’ll take out this, and make up that,

I mean who will know it’s different,

We’ll say we try our best, but won’t.

They’ll think we’re heaven sent.”

But I know what you’re really about.

I know what’s behind those greedy eyes.

I see right through your “humbleness,”

It’s a tangled mess of lies.

You should have just said,

“I’m sorry, but we cannot please the crowd”

You should have said “we’re sorry folks,”

Then out you should have bowed.

You should have listen to any warnings,

Because now I curse you still.

And I’ll laugh and watch as I hear mangled screaming,

Beyond my windowsill.

Because I’ll know who went after you,

It’s the fan girls that are true.

I hope they rip you limb from limb,

Because that’s what I’d do.

The characters were my family,

My little group of friends

You took them away to endless shame,

Now you must make amends.

You are the ones, who made your price so high,

You’re the ones that dug the grave.

Oh, I do hope that you come to see reason,

I mean, who else is there to save?

What’s that you say?

Oh no, there isn’t anyone to hear your screams

I hope you lie in bed, in wait,

And have unpleasant dreams.

Of all the suicides you write,

Of all the lives you break

Of every child who saw a film,

Those dying sobs are yours to take.

They are yours now and forever,

They are there for when you die,

And so now I’m silent and lay in wait,

Laughing as you cry.

Staring down with feverish hate,

As I’d like to see you so,

To see you with tormented eyes,

So that to the mob, your soul, I’ll throw.

Well, I appreciate

The time you spent to read this letter,

I only hope that in future movies,

You serve to make them better,

I pray that you remember

But now I must truly take my leave,

I pray that you had a purer brain,

That your mind was not a sieve.

Now I bid you all adieu

Yours truly,

I bid to you.

-a loving fan.