Diary Entries of a Perturbed Poet

I find it challenging to keep a diary, but I have owned a few. Sometimes, I write things down on scraps of paper that find their way to the tip. Here are some excerpts spanning from 2015-2021.


He’s still not replied. I also dropped ‘special friend’ a message. It’s his day off tomorrow, so I may get a quick reply.

Why did I dream of him last night? I don’t know what this is. Did he like me? He took an interest in me. He took notice of the outfits I wore.

Sometimes… all the time, I feel crazy. Holding on. Forever holding on.

2017 (Date Unknown)

How To Suffer Unrequited Love:

  1. Scream bloody murder.
  2. Cry from the pit of your stomach.
  3. Go downstairs, grab the knife, and trace the skin covering your heart.
  4. Throw glasses so they shatter.
  5. Bite your skin.
  6. Sream again.
  7. Wake up, rinse, and repeat.


There is nothing poetic about divorce. Everything is concrete. Hard concrete. Dirty, cracked, and distorted. I just wish I could fix it all.


They don’t get it. They don’t understand. I know everyone says this, but, for me, it is true. Ever since I was younger, I have had this obsession with older men. X, the current one, he is difficult. We laugh with each other. I bake him a cake. We graze fingertips. He’s a natural flirt anyway. Could he? I don’t know. I really don’t.


Yesterday, Amazon delivered a gift from Stewart. He bought me ten books and a Ted Baker watch. I don’t ask him to buy me anything. Now we’ve said we love each other. I love him very much indeed.


He’s dead. I knew it was too good to be true.

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