Notebooks

My room
is filled
with notebooks.
All different sizes
and colors
and textures.
So many that
sometimes
I can't contain them all.
I can't let out all my feelings
into them
becuase
I have too many
pages
to choose from...
Too many different ways
I could write it out.
Too many thoughts, especially.
Thoughts about
poetry.
Thoughts about
God
Thoughts about
my thoughts...
Thoughts about
everything.
And I have a notebook
for each.
My notebooks
speak
for me.
They say the things
I am afraid to say
out loud.
It's funny because
I express my
real
true
feelings
as if
telling the world
what I really think.
It's as if
I want everyone to know
how self-centered
and cruel
I think some of them are.
And yet,
I hide my notebooks
in my room
under a pillow
so
nobody
can
read
them.
I guess i'm the type
that's all
talk
but no
action.

I really don't hate the world
I guess my notebooks
make it seem that way.
I just have so many
things
bottled
up
inside.
So much pain
caused by uncaring people
so much anger
brought by
high-school...
And really
writing this
will not solve or change that.
Since i'll probably go home today
and complain
some more
in
my
notebooks.
And those people
I write about
will never know
how
I
truly
feel.