DIARY OF A SAD GIRL

I wake up with heaviness
before the sun learns my name.
My heart already tired,
like it's been crying all night
without my permission.

I smile in public,
fold my sadness neatly
and tuck it behind my ribs.
No one sees the bruises
thoughts leave on my mind.

I write to survive.
Ink is the only thing
that listens without judging,
the only place
I'm allowed to fall apart.

Some days I miss people
who are still alive,
miss versions of myself
that loved freely,
that didn't second-guess joy.

I am learning that sadness
is not weakness—
it's a language my soul speaks
when it needs rest,
when it needs truth.

So tonight, dear diary,
hold me gently.
If I cannot be happy,
let me at least be honest.