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A silver box upon a shelf
Hidden behind and beneath
Locked and shut away
An old and rusty key nearby
Curiosity overtakes
Winning an unnecessary fight
The key slides easily into the keyhole
And what is inside, but a dusty old book?
Nothing more but a diary
Ancient and fragile and anticlimactic
But riveting all the same
Once the book is opened
Anyone would know
It’s more than just a diary
It’s a time capsule
Each page is a war
Fought, feared, tried, lost
Blood spattered across page one
Tear stains embedded into page two
Black ink forming illegible letters
Page four is burned and black
Page five is torn out
And no one dares to go further
But the depths of this book
Endless unless uncovered
Your fingers caress each troubled sheet
A story unwritten but not untold
Captivating, inspiring, but still
Disturbing
Page six is a broken heart
Page seven is a pair of lips slashed
Reaching the end after a life’s worth of suffering
The very last page is plain and new
This book of heartbreak and screams and battles
Ending with scissors and blood once again
You enter words into that last page.
The Life of a Teenage Girl
Volume One.




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