Dear Diary

Photo by Nan Kené Arthur

One page left in my journal.
Words written;
No conclusion drawn.

I am the star,
Of sorts,
Fumbling
Through my roles,
Lost in a rubble
Of metaphors.

I am the martyr, (of course),
Self-pity is chic,
On occasion.

I am the loved and the loveless,
The strong and the sultry.

I am a woman,
Screaming out
For identity,
So silently, but for
200, spiral-lined-pages,
At one dollar (and 99 cents),
The price
Of self-esteem.