In honor of Dear Diary Day, brave Frisky staffers share their most mortifying diary entries. Share yours in the comments. We promise not to laugh.
This is a mortifying poem I found in my diary from 1997. It’s called “We Walk Away” written for the bad boy I was in lurrrrvvve with when I was 18, the summer after my freshman year of college. I’m sure you can all guess how it ended. Very, very badly. All in all, a thoroughly embarrassing illustration of my man-hating feminist, hardcore, slam poetry, post-Goth phase of life.
He was asleep dreaming of records, I was awake dreaming of him.
Without his glasses he could not see me but without a heart, he will never hear me.
I stayed awake, thought about his boots, his purple bandana, his viking hat.
He’s never seen my boots.
My boots that are made for walking away.
My boots that are made for hard-ass hearts.
These boots that will walk all over you.
I walked down his block, didn’t know where he lived.
I sniffed for the sweet scent of Jolly Ranchers and Dum Dums.
I’m not a Dum Dum and just because I like candy, it doesn’t make me a child.
And just because I took candy from a stranger doesn’t make me a victim.
I realize you walk by my block and keep walking.
Possibly stopping to adjust your Calvins you left in a wad on my floor.
We all walk away, boots and all.
Down comes the cradle, baby and all.
I felt it all.