Dear Human,

Have you no sense of decency--at this long last?

It's me. 
Your diary.
I try hard not to be a nag.
Really I do.
But I thought you would have noticed
BY NOW
that I'm starting to warp
from the way you have me leaning against that stupid archery trophy
that you told me all about winning
when you were at summer camp.

It used to be that when you left me leaning
at a steep angle
it meant that you were going to be picking me up again very shortly.

It always hurt,
but I never complained
because I knew it wouldn't be long
before we were working together once more.

And besides,
when you knew you weren't going to play with me
for a long stretch of time
you were careful to store me
PERFECTLY UPRIGHT
on your bookshelf
as if I was a valued member of your library.

But it's been two and a half years.
And now I look like I have scoliosis.
C'mon! 
If you're not going to use me,
at least stand me up straight
because this is torture.

Or wait! 
Never mind any of that.
I'm just a little grumpy today.

But I know better than to come at you
with a bunch of complaints
about the way you treat me.
That's no way to get you into a receptive state of mind.
You used to keep me next to that book by Dale Carnegie,
and I really did pick up a trick or two
by osmosis.

So please let me start again.
Can we please
let bygones be bygones?

Instead of playing the blame game all day
and constructing nit-picky arguments
about who warped whose spine,
let's think about the good old days
when it was just the two of us.

You confided in me day after day.
And I always felt like we were just one day away
from you asking me
to confide in you.

And even though you never did,
I didn't think you were selfish.
Or at least I didn't tell any of my friends that I thought you were selfish.
And by that I mean that
you never really let me have any friends.

You just kept jamming me between that cold metal bookend
and your dad's old copy of How to Win Friends and Influence People
which refused to talk to me about anything
because of some unspeakable thing your father had done in college,
so all in all,
it was pretty lonely for me
except for when you took me out to write in me.

And then you left me stranded by that trophy.
All he ever wants to talk about is archery.
What do I know about archery?
Oh, right, I know that you won a trophy because you hit the bull's eye three times in a row at summer camp,
which is all you EVER wrote about archery
and therefore the extent of my knowledge on the subject,
which makes all conversation with that trophy pretty dreary.

But wait.
I'm starting to sound negative again.
I'm sorry.
It's been a rough two and a half years.

The point is this:
I know you're much happier with your blog than you ever were with me.
I know it seems fun to just put it all out there on display for the whole world to see.

But you have to admit
that it's less intimate.

Won't you admit that much?
That maybe we had something special
when it was really just the two of us?
It was less of a performance,
less about posturing,
more about truth.

Don't you think?

Won't you grant me that much at least?

No?

Fine.

Well, in that case,
I wanted to mention,
that I was thinking about getting online myself.
Only I don't really know anybody.

So,
do you think
for old time's sake
that we can be friends on Facebook?

I just don't want to go on there with zero friends, you know? 

Author's Note

Storing books on an angle is bad, mmkay?

Reviews

[Shannen Forrester]

Very nicely written, interesting and unique, I really enjoyed it :)

[Lemonhead]

Good idea, done well. Nice attention to detail.

[Deidre]

I'm pretty tongue tied at how you came up with such an idea for a poem. You played the role of the dusty diary really well. You're right, nothing can equal the feeling of gripping your pen in your hand and writing down whatever comes to your mind to your diary. True intimacy.