I Tried to Keep a Diary
I tried to keep a diary.
I've got pages and pages of dog eared journals,
they started out as entries but turned into poetry.
Everyone occasionally asks a question to see if anyone is listening
I grew up believing in ghosts, being one
All to explain to my brain why no one could hear me screaming.
I wanted to write Words but it ended up like a cement mixing truck
collided with a book of nursery rhymes for children,
I kept hearing the voices of my friends in my head
"This is pathetic"
I thought writing was supposed to be therapeutic,
So many ghosts, they hide in the dust tendrils of my room.
Yet they cling to every box packed up with every move,
Home is a taste I can smell but can't place
I've had more houses than I've had years of school,
I am a ghost who wishes she took up less room, less space.
Can you hear me whisper all my memories?
I tried to keep a diary, but,
all I ever managed to keep was a box of things.
Things from every place I ever lived and
every boy I ever loved..
Every trinket is a siren that pulls my angst in,
I try to keep a diary and this is just what happens.
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