Dear Diary

I write in you

My mother says it’s childish

My innermost thoughts

My secrets

Locked safely in the tear wrinkled pages of your tattered spirit

Burdened with my shameful exploits of debauchery and lust

They run their eyes across your bare skin

Scanning each word

Engraved into your soul

They recoil with repugnance

Your body tremors

They pitch your threadbare, pain-filled mass across the room

As if each leaf of yours was trickling with poison that would engulf them

Secrets are such a crude thing

No one will confess t it

But no one really wants to discern your secrets

Because then they would recognize the truth

And people cannot handle the truth

So I write in you

Knowing that your soul will take my secrets

Close up your body and slide it below my bed

Letting the words be enclosed in the dark

Because the truth is always black and white

And I am assured that you, dear diary

Won’t judge me in the manner that they would

This poem is about: 
Me

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