Another Daily Entry

Brooke Tracy Smith

            Dear Diary...
            Penmanship strong, with bold fluid strokes, she began to unravel her mind.
            Help me to let go.
         Her eyes began to widen at her own words. As she bit her lip, a twang of copper slid to her tongue and brought more from deep within her. Hunched in her dark bedroom, she continued her increasingly wavering teenage scrawl.
       Most people can say they fear spiders, clowns... Death. Her fingers started to twitch, her emotions starting to boil over deep within her chest. The raging current swallowing her heart and creating such intense pressure that it started to cloud her eyes.
           From what I gather, people that fear these things try to fight against them. They throw shoes at the spiders, shield their eyes from the clown and deny death. Already taken by these short sentences, her throat began to close in on itself, but it was too late to stop. She pressed her pen harder to the paper, ingraining the black words against the pages to come.
          So then why am I treated as if I am to be feared? The looks of disgust... Her lips tightened, cheeks straining against the salty rivers that bled from her eyes.
           The looks of fear... Her pen scratched noisily over the sharpness of her lettering, the outside world blanketed in black as her body fought against this moment long coming.
           I am human. So why are shoes thrown at me? Gazes turned away from this living person as she is backed into a corner? Denying her existence. The gates broken, her chest heaves a shaky breath.
           Is it because I’m not a bottle blonde? That my lips aren't graced with pink gloss; I don't wear high heels and short skirts? Placing myself on this show case display, with a personality as transparent as the glass surrounding me?
         Something snapped within her, a squeak dragging along her throat as she suppresses a little more. A realization dawning upon her, she lets go, a loud and shrill curse spewing from her lungs. Her body convulses as if throwing the negativity from her heart and up out her mouth.
           Thrown from her concentration, she gazes lightly around her room, which is blanketed in navy blue. It's a surprise she can even see the ink to begin with. But the coldness of it all only drew her closer inside, reaching deep into her subconscious and grasps onto a slippery, dripping black mass. Yet it is so heavy.
            She turns back to the pages, to bleed the negativity onto the pages. To free herself.
          For so many years, ever since I was a little girl, it only seems to continue. I know they won't stop. Drops of water pattered against the pages, bordering the words I am Human.
          I'm so lonely, so tired. But I won't let them win. If they win, they are right. And I know that they aren't! I wont be a part of this game ANYMORE. With a flourish of ink she then threw the small hard cover book across the room, a cry breaking from her heart. The black mass rupturing and tearing open, she pulled her legs in, and hid her face within them as the sobs coursed through her body.

           The book thundering against the wall before dropping to the floor pages up.