Journal

I like to document my days
like files that someone might care about
some time in the distant future.

They’re personal, and true,
and the most honest version of
myself, one I think I look up to.

I do think I am honest, brutal
at that. It may hurt a person,
but a pen doesn’t hurt a page,

but rather it scars it.

My scars line the pages, filling
them with every emotion you
could begin to imagine.

Excitement, joy and laughter,
is contrasted with themes of,
depression, overthinking and panic.

No matter what emotion floods
my page, you know it is true, and real
because of how the ink flows ebony

black, like looking deep into a pupil,
and seeing someone’s past.
Only it’s my own.

The brilliant thing about a page,
is that the ink may fade, but writing
something, anything, down is enough

to remember the gist of your day - and
nothing is worse than forgetting.