Diary Dear...

July 17, 2012
I am from romance,
from the noble, clear ring of his name.
I am from that one man who sets my heart afire with his tender affection.
I am from the warm, gentle pressure of his palm upon mine
as I gaze upon that face...
that face for which I had been longing even before I first saw it.

I'm from bombs,
from guns and plans and diagrams.
I'm from secrets discreetly whispered behind closed doors,
from justice and liberty,
words that gradually build and build until they reach a deafening crescendo --
I'm from the distant promise of freedom.

I'm from that cruel, evil sadist,
the grinning demon whose name I carry in my left shoe;
From another man whose betrayal has left me lost
in a forest of nightmares and dreams.
His name I carry in my right shoe.

My heart,
raw and aching with the pain of being young,
is laid bare on your pages, diary dear.
I am from these moments --
passionate, thrilling, painful --
that will forever lie in your pages,
documenting the flight of butterfly number two.

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