Daisy's Diary

I'd like to apologize for such a long hiatus...but here's another poem fresh from my thoughts. Enjoy

Daisy's Diary
Like an empty notebook
Placed neatly beside the victim
Of a successful suicide attempt,
I can see the pain of a story untold.
I can see the very first time you attempted to write:
Interrupted by life with little time to do anything
But write “Daisy’s Diary” on the cover,
As though laying claim to the notebook
Would bring about more of a connection
Or some sort of intrinsic attraction
that compelled you to jot your daily pains and pleasures.
Funny the more life dealt you pain
The tighter fatigue’s grip became.
Ironically it was those times
At your weakest, lowest points
That you should have written the most.
Like the second time you tried to write,
After your Facebook page was hacked,
And your crafty computer assailant flooded your page
With the thoughts and emotions
That were too private for the public forum.
How could your own wall play host
To such a betrayal or invasion of privacy?

You thought…

You cried…

You questioned…

You did many things…

But you did not write.
Instead you wondered why it had to be you.
Why you were the one whose interests were “weird”?
Why no matter how many showers you took,
You couldn’t clean the name Dirty Daisy off of your reputation?
Why no one told you about the paper balls in your hair
Before you made it all the way back to an empty house?
Why your hair wasn’t as full or stylish
As Ariel’s?
Why your mother worked two jobs
And didn’t have time to teach you about what it meant
When Derek smiled and said, “Hi,” and your face grew hot?
Or how whatever that feeling or weird connection was
Was different from when the boys took turns
Daring each other to grab your ass,
With one, sometimes two hands and smiling or even laughing in your face.
Maybe you should have written these questions in your notebook
Maybe you could have answered these questions for yourself.
Defining love, life, and pain on your own,
Rather than allowing the opinions of your peers to do it for you.
You were old enough to cook and clean for yourself,
…So you were old enough to define yourself.
You and the pages in your book could have decided
Who you were.

Your notebook would have come to know you
Like no man could ever,
Like no “friend” would dare to.
Your circumstances did not have to dictate your outlook.
Had I had a second chance I would tell you
We are not to be confined by our circumstances.
And that these pages were empty and filled with endless possibilities
All at the same time.

Your story was one that needed to be told,
In order for it to be finished.
I shed a tear of regret that I did not pull you out of the game of life
To take a breather and right the wrongs
As you write what’s wrong.
Now as I flip through these empty pages,
I see a life unlived,
And I feel pain unshared
From a story untold…
Daisy’s Diary

By Lawrence Raysor