Death of the Diary

I got a new Journal every Christmas

and sometimes a funky new pen

its the only way i'd open up

and it didnt force them to listen

Id look through the bright colorful pages

unsure of what to write first

unmotivated by the generic quote on the front

prepared to taint its blank pages with my hurt

shredding the pages and staining them with tears

screaming in CAPITAL LETTERS

shading out fears

I got a new journal every Christmas .

they started getting them on birthdays too

I lined them on the shelves for torture

and stacked them up real cute

no one cared to peek at just one

no one dared to face the truth

they'd drown me out as I'd drown within

and buy something pretty for me to pour into.

Another holiday , another journal

slaughtered and stacked pretty

out in the open for all to notice

not one peek

expressionless

wearing long shirts in the summer

not one question

just jokes and hurtful remarks about how Im dressing

Im angry .

I need a journal to slaughter

Outspoken but all my words are scribbled in ink

dying to be heard

but i am mute to those

that are blind to me .

I stopped getting Journals every Christmas

when i started buying them on my own

locking myself in my thoughts

with hateful sounds blaring through my dome

whats wrong ? every one wants to hear a poem ..

I have their full attention

When you pour your pain out in rhymes they all wanna listen

fidgeting in their seats

"Is she talking about me?"

they're all in their feelings

and im numb

i wanna be muted

hear my music

slaughter a page or something .