From Her Diary



We Hurt,

We mask our pain in bed sheets

Wanting to cover the scars

We’ve tried applying make-up to.

We Cry,

Not knowing why

Unattached to the reality of the sickness we have.

So We Weep

Running back and forth around the playground

Only hoping our playmate is ideal-

Like in our imagination.

Yet We Take It,

Loving them more than we love ourselves-

Like we wished someone else could.

But in the end,

We’re left alone with nothing, but ourselves

Not knowing why the bed sheets, the make-up, or the empty love never rid the pain.


Author: Christina Anderson

Nommo Contributor