The Diaries


The Diaries

They are all that’s left

From a scattered, shattered childhood

Proof

In twenty-six tortuous volumes

In living color

Of what happened to me

 

***

 

The Diaries

From age twelve to seventeen

Are there any more tumultuous years in a child’s life?

The brutal ignorance

Of the ugliest of truths

It was all I knew

 

***

 

The Diaries

 

Reading them now

Forty-five years later

Determined to get through them

After several attempts in the past

This is my past

And I must do this

To heal?

Must I?

 

***

 

The Diaries

 

Day to day

Hour by hour

Of minutiae

Full of angst

Even some joy

But mostly pain

Was it really that awful?

Yes, indefensibly, it was.

 

***

 

The Diaries

 

A living, breathing record

Of the truth

I can only do small snippets

Then I must take a break

To recover

Before I move on to the next pages

Of what in the actual the fuck?

This is how it all went down?

 

***

 

The Diaries

 

They follow me

They haunt me

They hurt me

They are me

 

***

 

The Diaries

 

Don’t you dare try to change the narrative

It’s all there

They define me

Ugliness, pain, and truth

 

***

 

The Diaries

Bury them with me when I die.

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