Black Book

It’s full of secrets and thoughts I can’t share.
A Pandora ’s Box of misdirected hatred. Hidden
in a drawer under the stairs. A ticking time-bomb.
I hope you find it. I hope you feel the words
as I felt them so many years ago. The writing
has faded now; as pencil does. Much like
the images of a broken girl that lay
on the floor, under a blanket of razor blades
and tears. Despite the blade becoming dull
and the rivers drying up, there isn’t much
of a difference between us. She was strange
and scared like me, but she tried to hide it
from the glaring eyes of the world. She was
lowly caterpillar, looking for hope in a dark
cocoon. She changed. It took a long time,  but
she broke out and learnt that wings were used
better as a shield than a means of escape.
The words of a lost child are not very interesting.
They lack any literary prowess and were formed
so long ago it seems irrelevant and poignant.
But I want you to read it. I want you to follow
the fading lines with your confused eyes so
you know the real me. The twisted little girl
hiding under the skin of a faded scar.

Reviews

[Tara Togoland]

Wow! I read this over and over again, attributing meaning to each sentence.