To Whom It May [Not] Concern:

I, [state your name], 

was nothing

short of mortified

by the wasteful void

at the bottom

right corner

of p. 62

in November's 

tidal issue.

I clipped the poems

apart with scissors

that cut me once

and rearranged 

them in five ways

that preserved space

for an even longer

spilling of one's guts

than the one-ninth

of a page

which your design team

deemed unfit 

for local souls

to purge.

I'm keeping this plea

short and unsweet

for the sake of brevity

in the hopes

that it takes up less space

in your Trash email folder

since it won't adorn

your publication

but please

for the sake of those

who need this catharsis

and validation

in order to survive

keep this in mind

when laying out

what's more than words.

Sincerely,

Everyone Who's Bled on Your Pages