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Submitted on
February 10
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She wrote everything
in that old diary of hers,
always smelling of tangerines
and blueberries,
looking torn and beaten
from all the corners and crooks
she's hidden it in.

She shoved hours of every day
between the cracking covers
of that book,
hoping to save them for the future,
when she'll no longer be able to remember,
incapable of reliving her past.

Pouring out her soul onto the pages
through the tip
of her black sharpie,
recording her life
minute by minute.

She didn't know
that putting her life on paper
would take the life
out of her.

I didn't know either.

And now I would kill
to read the her hidden behind covers.

I'd die to read the her
who opened up over the pages.
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:iconfaberrittanacaskett:
FaberrittanaCaskett Featured By Owner Feb 12, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
As a writer and someone who keeps a creative writing folder I completely understand, I don't let the thing out of my sight.
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:iconkidko123:
kidko123 Featured By Owner Feb 12, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
It was actually written about a friend.
It has nothing to do with me.
Psh,
yeah
like I keep a diary....
*finds new hiding place*
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:iconasterlia:
Asterlia Featured By Owner Feb 10, 2014  Student General Artist
Nice imagery! This is a very beautiful poem :)
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:iconkidko123:
kidko123 Featured By Owner Feb 10, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Why, thank you.
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:iconasterlia:
Asterlia Featured By Owner Feb 10, 2014  Student General Artist
You're welcome! :)
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