The Diary

It's pages lay here tattered,
Scattered on the floor,
Violated,
Prying eyes,
Can prowl for nothing more.

Answers come from asking questions,
Not from breaking trust,
What you've done, does nothing more,
Than fill me with disgust.

My private pages, hopes and dreams,
My darkness and my pain,
Trapped inside this little book,
You read with sweet disdain.

It wasn't yours to come and find,
Yet still you searched it out,
Then wonder why I'm standing here,
With eyes so full of doubt.

Doubting that you understand,
Or realize what you've done,
I rip apart the little book,
And give it to the sun.

Pages floating through the air,
Words now left behind,
I'll never write another thought,
Locked inside my mind.

My diary, my secret place,
No longer safe to be,
Trapped inside the living world,
For anyone to see.