Dear Diary

The Doll’s Louvre

I wish I had been born 

from a painter's brush:

a perfect mural of strokes and colors. 

A musicians hands: 

a composition of notes and soothing melodies.

I wish I had been born from 

a poet's mind: 

a fusion of complex stanzas and deep meaning.

An author’s pen: 

a brave entanglement of character.

I wish I had been born 

in the eyes of a sculptor: 

an elegant, beautiful, carving of perfection without cracks.

But no 

I am a broken pile of stone. 

A book page wet with tears.

I am an unfinished, prosaic poem.

A song that makes ears bleed and eyes drown, a mix of notes that don't make sense.

Together 

I’m a ripped and stained painting, 

neglected in the back of this so-called gallery of life.

Sincerely,

-My beloved body dysmorphia

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Put the Television on Mute Please

Right now I feel like a monochrome film without clear sound.

Screen blurry,

pixels in an unseen flurry.

No definite color,

each minute duller.

I watch from afar,

what’s to come of this bazaar lead star.

Sound bleeding into static buzz,

never receding, erratic yet dramatic just because 

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The Empty Funeral 

I died some time ago

It wasn’t sad

there was no gathering at the cemetery

no flowers 

nor a monotone priest reciting hymns

there was no sweet music

no tears to water the dead earth

it was a quiet death

a lovely loss 

to no one, apparently 

I died some time ago

it could of been months or years or maybe just yesterday

no one counts, so why should I?

I wasn’t scared.

It was my choice. 

It’s funny isn’t it,

how no one even noticed.

How? 

I thought they knew

How Did They Not

How Could They Not SEE?!

I died some time ago

a dead leaf to fall 

lost or confused but dead all the same

I’m the one to blame

for this 

but no one knew 

the rotten leaf falling was a normality 

I died some time ago 

There, are you happy?

Sincerely, 

        a little, silent death