She wants to read my personals,
The ones I don't ever post.
All the dusty notebooks,
All the hard years and burning memories.
You can read them bb,
But only if you are ready,
To learn history hurts.

Lawrence Hall
[email protected]  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

               Whatever Happened to all our Little Notebooks?

We all saw the same old bumper sticker:
This is not a rehearsal; this is your life
And so we carried little notebooks around
Discreetly jotting down the overheards

In coffee shops and class, the mid-night shift
The bus to work, the elevator up
The escalator down, the line at the bank
For the poems or plays or novels we’d write

The cafeteria was a notebook itself
Between the salad and dessert we fell in love

Pen and pencil residue
Scribbled across a crumpled page
My words
His words
Yours
What do they all mean?
Still they make me feel things
Tears staining old papers
Not sure where these thoughts come from
It's been a long time now
Though it feels like just yesterday
These empty vibrations we put out back then
Still find a way to reach me now
This sting will last an eternity
Unless I throw it all away
And let the memories fade

maybe i want you to find my notebooks someday
so that you can read all about my pain
that i kept stashed and stored and hidden
behind my pen and the countless ink stains on my hands
my pain that i wanted to speak to you about yet never could
so here are my last words, they always didn't come so easy to write
i grew restless, exhausted, and i just wanted you to look into my eyes
instead i held base, behind these scribbled lines

it is a revelation
not one cicada
sounds the same

a butterfly sitting
by me admiring
something I lose

myself on such lightness
I use to tell children
to stop and to listen to

the songs  of
butterflies as
they nodded back

where I live
now is very hot
it's the dry desert

mountains encircle
the valley where
the rainbows lay

for short breaks
on periodically
sprinkled grass

i have these notebooks
they're nothing truly special
red, green, and black
70 sheets of college ruled paper
(less than that from torn out pages)
battered and worn
months of wear and tear
but they hold so much value to me
pages of thoughts scribbled out
some pages half torn
to-do lists that were never completed
poems that are half completed
notes of poems that could be
random thoughts throughout the day
a song that i heard and liked
it's just random notes
thoughts that were filling my head
thoughts i had to get out
there's so many things i can share
and someday, i will
but now
i'll leave you with this poem