She Tells The Paper

She tells the paper,
it can not judge or criticize her.
The pattern is evident,
though you can not see it.
No one ever sees it.
You do not know why,
you may never.
If only you paid attention.
Though she hides it all too well.
Her armor is cracked,
but still struggles to protect, weakly.
Broken confessions,
explains it all.
But you can not,
it is hers,
do not touch it.
She tells the paper,
it can not judge or criticize her.
Sleep only comes with tears.
Always.
Perfect days are just a set up,
a cruel set up.
Trust is a vicious lie.
Do you feel any remorse?
Of course not.
She stays silent,
it is the only way.
The pressure tries to force her again.
She fights the urge,
but gives in.
She tells herself this is the last time.
She is weak.
She fails.
She tells the paper,
because it is a secret.
Too many secrets.
You think you know everything.
Not the secrets.
They are written on the paper,
They are the broken confessions.

Reviews

[PerfectFlaw90]

I loved it. That feeling that so many of us have...being able to put things on paper, anything, when you can't tell other people. That feeling of frustration, of venting...I can totally relate to this. Great poem, keep it up!