My Notebook

My notebook hangs heavy in my pocket,

the one thing that knows all of my lies.

The one thing that hears my confessions,

my secrets,

my dreams.

All the things I should have said and couldn’t muster nerve to.

I haven’t said anything to it lately.

My silent friend,

now my worst enemy.

It needs my stories, my confessions.

Without them it is my worst enemy.

Its pages taunt me.

I remove it from my pocket and open it,

blank lines staring my at me with murderous intent.

I look at them and offer all I can,

an apology to its pages.

The lack of attention.

I close it, hold its leather to my face,

The smell that reminds me of better times.

I close it and slip it back into my pocket.

I can’t face it today.