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.
You Just Can’t Make This Shit Up 