Dear Diary,
What should I tell your empty pages?
Those creamy textured sheets, untouched… yet.
Should I wait for an inspiration…
To have beautiful flowers grow on you
Soft animals running around
Playing peek-a-boo
Tall buildings with firefly lights
Pretty people walking by
In fabulous clothes and high heels
Childhood memories of the games I played
Summer holidays and paper planes
Making rainbows with prisms
Or should I fill you up with
Word upon word of angst and resentment
Of fading dreams and emerging fears
Should I soil your pages with these dirty thoughts
Just so I could have a clean mind?
It is for this, dear diary,
You still sleep in the blanket of dust…
I’ll wake you with colours someday.