I pity the underpaid

high school English teachers

who have to read

the journal entries

they assign.

 

I cringe reading

the ancient pink notebook

with blue ink doodles

and page after sordid page

littered with the trash

of my adolescence.

 

I swallow the impulse

to send out

a public service announcement

letting former classmates,

teachers, boyfriends, etc.

know that I am not

who I was.