You used to be my old journal

the one I brought to the café
where I would capture my feelings
of joy, anger, sorrow, and pain
with intricate letters on paper.

You used to be my favorite book

the one I’ve creased the spine of
from reading it over and over
on my solemn and lonely days,
to escape to a better reality.

I have become my school binder

the one that was once organized,
but, now is a complete wreck
due to stressful days
and sleepless nights.

I have become my bedroom

the one with reminiscent pictures
scattered on the floor
and unfinished poems
piled on top of my desk.

Now, I have lost my old journal and my favorite book
in the mess of myself.