dear diary, i don’t know what i’m doing. and some days, i work until i can barely breathe. and some days i just sort of sit on the couch and watch tv. and i tell myself it’s self-care, but i don’t even know what that word means to me.
dear diary, i haven’t talked to someone offline in weeks, and sometimes i forget to eat. or sleep. and sometimes i just zone out, for hours on end, because i’m so fucking tired. and it’s all the same, isn’t it?
dear diary, i can’t tell the difference between the past and the present. and i think the people i love are going to leave, and i’m so scared i can’t sleep, and i refuse to be a child again.
dear diary, don’t you just love how a situation can trigger a memory? how a memory is kind of like a doorway, and how pretty soon you’re sobbing on your bedroom floor, picking your mind apart into frail sheets of tissue paper. still not sure what the difference is, between what you felt and the reality.
and i’m writing this poem because i have to. because once you grow up, the world isn’t fucking going to wait for you. and i’m writing this poem this because i need to. and i’m doing this because goddamnit, i just wanted to impress you. and be the good little girl you always wanted me to be.
dear diary, i flinch every time someone talks to me. and how many fucking times do i have to say i’m sorry?
I really don’t know what to say about this piece–I think it speaks for itself, but just wanted to say I’m thinking about shooting a video to accompany the spoken word track for this poem, which I already have some plans for and am gonna record over the weekend–ack, I feel like that was worded really awkward but anyhow, be excited, I’m super proud of this poem and want to do Many Things with it!