To Daisy Buchanon

Oh Daisy, Daisy, Daisy

Beloved love of Gatsby,

and yet forgotten and neglected wife of your very own husband.

You hoped your daughter would grow to be a fool—

a beautiful little fool, because you know that being a fool is better than being cruel in that world of yours, right?

It is better to be a foolish girl who doesn’t know the realities of the world than being a man who reflects those very cruelties, right?

Your husband was not a very good man, is he?

He did not hit you, but he does abandon you,

disregard you,

neglect you,

disrespect you—

disrespecting your presence,

disrespecting your marriage.

But it is better to be a fool,

who smiles and dreams stupidly without a care or awareness of the world.

It is better to be a coward than be brave and stand up for yourself in that world of yours, right?

You grew to be a beautiful fool,

and you became a beautiful trophy fool.

You couldn't wait for Gatsby because security was better than risk, wasn't it?

I am not shaming you or glorifying you,

I'm just stating how limited women's choices were during your lifetime.

It is better to dance around in expensive pearls and beautiful flapper dresses

than to truly see what the world does to women like you.

Dear Daisy, you killed Myrtle—but you didn’t, right?

So... you just ran away,

and let "the love of your life" take the price with his life.

You were and are a coward to the end.

Choosing security was all you knew and taught—

to be a beautiful little fool,

careless even at the very end, right?

Sometimes I wonder,

how would it feel to know

how you took the life of the woman who continuously disrespected you and your marriage?

With her blatant call, blatant presence of her essence on your husband that you have always known it's there.

How your husband takes the pride of reveling at the properties he has.

Do you have nightmares or happy dreams?

Where your "love" lays dead inside his pool, paying for his own foolishness and delusion.

All those obnoxious, loud and boisterous parties,

all those flowers,

all those passionate and intense grand gestures,

all those whispered kisses and making love—

it all meant nothing.

It was all just an escape to you, wasn't it?

Those thirty seconds of you staring at each other... that look on your face, that seemed like the only time you wished, truly wished to go back in time.

Go back to him.

Go back to your old flame Gatsby.

But you didn’t—you chose your husband at the very end.

You were so selfish and careless, but your life is so sad—and that is what you chose.

It is alright.

You cried not because of those shirts, weren’t you?

You cried because of the life you could have with the one you loved.

The time you had the love of your life,

the time you could’ve been happy with him,

the time you could’ve been more than a fool—but a happy wife and mother, a happy person.

You had it all, Daisy—

you beautiful little fool.

You still have it all,

but you have nothing.