My Diary

I write to you, my diary

But you cannot write back to me

I talk to you through the ink of my pen

But you are made up of trees that are now dead

If I need a shoulder to cry on

I must go find a kind and honest friend

If I need a place to run and hide

I must go somewhere and try to survive

If I need a hug

You don’t have arms to hug me back

And if I need to hear words

You don’t have a mouth to tell me “it isn’t that bad”

However, if I need someone to listen to me

I have you every night before I go to sleep

I write to you, my diary

Because you know and carry every part of me