Dear Diary,
My socks are wet, and I wish I were dead.
Seriously. Wet socks are
the epitome of misery.
Walk a mile in my wet sock shoes,
And that’ll show you it’s true.
Dear Diary,
I didn’t take my vitamin D today,
So I sat outside without sunscreen.
I waited for my ivory skin to burn,
The tell-tale sign I’ve baked enough.
That’s my problem with baking:
When the timer rings, I never believe it,
And I am left well-done.
Too salty, too tough,
Too young to know any better.
Dear Diary,
I wish it were Halloween all year around.
That way, I’d have a real reason
For wearing this mask from sunrise to sundown
Because Halloween is the season for masks,
Not frowns.
Well… unless you’re a horror movie clown.
Dear Diary…
I think I’m a horror movie clown.
I guess that’s not the worst thing I am
Or ever could be…
I could be a country singer.
Dear Diary,
I just realized I own two sets of roller skates,
And I don’t know how to roller skate.
Does that seem like a metaphor to you?
Dear Diary,
I’m tired of pretending,
Of wasting my energy
On people who’ll never like me
When there are better things to be doing…
Like learning how to roller skate.
Find "Dear Diary" in my book, Flames Speak. Buy it here.
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