i've had a journal that i've written in here and there since the seventh grade.
i used to hide it under the recliner in my room.
somewhere along the way i ripped out a bunch of pages,
i was worried that someone would read them and know how i really felt.
when i went to college it came with me.
i used to hide it in the bottom of the drawer i kept my pants in.
upon reading the older entires i noticed the missing pages,
i wanted to know how i used to feel and what caused me to feel that way.
here i am living my life in the city.
i keep it right out on the top of my desk.
looking back and laughing i am flooded with emotion,
i want to let someone to read it and have a better understanding of who i am.
i know myself,
and no one knows me.
