She flicks through pages,
A story she'd never tell,
With a pen in hand,
And her thoughts to herself.
She wasn't one,
You'd suspect,
Of being an ocean,
With so much depth.
But in those pages you could see,
She was living a life,
Lost at sea,
With nothing but a world,
Slowly crumbling.
As she wrote page by page,
One by one,
Day by day,
Writing things she'd never say,
Along with fears,
She couldn't face.
An auto-biography,
Of a pretty face,
That hid problems,
Of an empty vase.
The paper was there,
To soak up her tears,
Or to forever preserve,
The love she shared with her peers.
A girl,
Seen as ordinary,
But her diary concealed,
The extraordinary,
A story,
Of what it means to feel,
To be human,
And to search for what's real.
