White Pages

Coming home is just as bad.

School is treaturous and home is hell.

This notebook, these small, straight lines are my safe haven.

I cannot be judged. I cannot be persecuted for my feelings.

This page knows me best and keeps my secrets close to it’s heart.

I’ve never spoken, but this beat up book is what I speak to best, and it speaks to me to.

Flipping through the rippled pages, I find a blank sheet.

So much black and blue ink not enough white.

My head is cleansed.

I am refreshed.