The Other Diary (Poetry)

This is the other diary —
the one for fears and needs —
no times, no dates, no entries
of any kind but these.

My loves have no disguises
they smear across the page
bleed their many faces
offload the weight of rage

where the censor cannot touch them
the naked ramble free
passion moons from every bridge
and no one’s there to see.

I haven’t written PRIVATE —
no warning to keep out
it isn’t locked or hidden
that’s not what it’s about —

it’s only words on paper
and this pen is not a knife
so the footprints carved run shallow
on the mudflat of my life.

This is the other diary —
half fantasy, half true —
the lies I’d half forgotten
and the truths I never knew.