I am a notebook.
My cover is colorful and bright,
But with a few knicks and scratches.
I have to apologize for my imperfections,
For I have fallen many times,
Bending my corners slightly.
Try to ignore my bumps and bruises,
My beat up complexion.
Since you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover,
Don’t pass me up without giving me a decent chance
Because you never know what kind of book you’d pass up.

I’m not the memoir of the prettiest girl,
Not the diary of the smartest or the funniest,
But as you flip through my pages,
I hope you’ll discover the voice of an ordinary person
Just trying to survive the roller coaster of life.

My earliest memories are somewhat of a blur.
The pencil’s led has mostly faded
And most of the ink has been smudged,
I now have left only a few distant memories from my early ages,
And I take them all to heart.
I struggle to remember them,
But it seems the more I look back
The harder it becomes to decipher my already hazy markings.

As your eyes skim through me,
You’ll notice that everyone has left their mark in a variety of inks.
My pages seem full of vibrant colors.
The reds, the blues, and the occasional dull, gray pencil.
Don’t count for my every utterance to be kept clean,
Because what is written across my pages is real.
It’s a real story about a real life, my life.
My fearless authors hold nothing back.

I might suggest you glance over a few pages.
Some secrets are better left alone.
You might come across some parts scribbled over or torn out,
Some parts I’ve tried to look over.
Splotches of ink leak through my pages
From where I’ve made smaller mistakes.
Although their stains become less visible with each flip of the page,
I still know that they will forever be in my presence.

I have been passed around from person to person,
Some faithful and some unfaithful.
The disloyal have abused me, leaving pieces of me torn apart.
But with others, I’ve had great times with,
And am glad I’ve meet them and am happy to have shared such great moments with.
For they respected me and were careful to not drop me.
I’ve enjoyed the best times with my longest and true friends.
For with them, I can trust that I won’t be torn apart.

My happiest memories stick out from the rest.
Their words shine through the pages in bright, bubbly prints.
My i's are dotted with hearts and smiles
And many of my sentences end in bold exclamation points.

Some people are slow to trusting y somewhat outgoing nature,
But as people become comfortable with my bindings and such
Some decide to write down their most sacred secrets on my light blue lines.
And to this day, none have regretted it,
For, they realize, that I can be quite good at giving advice
And their secrets I am taking to my grave.

Although my pages seem to have been filled to excess,
The story of my life is still being written,
As it is just beginning.
I’ve still got many pages left blank.
The number seems endless, each just begging to be written on.
Although I don’t know how I will end up,
Maybe you could help with the next few pages.
All I ask is that you don’t drop me,
And lave me a message, soft and sweet,
For me to remember you by.