This is how it happened.
I was 11 years old.
Two girls in my class pretended to be my friends.
They stole my diary.
They picked the lock.
Spreading my secrets across the playground like jelly.
I wrote about boys,
how they didn’t like me because I was fat.
I wrote about hating my mother, how crazy she was.
I wrote about hating my body.
Trying to lose weight, then
eating a half gallon of ice cream.
Those girls, picking the lock to my soul.
Opening it with a wrench
a straightened paperclip,
a pair of pliers,
Blasting it open with a stick of dynamite.
Screaming everything wrong about my life.
I never kept a diary again,
learned to keep everything inside.
How I felt, what I needed,
who I liked,
all the sadness.
This is what I know. You can’t trust girls.
You can’t trust anyone. This is my motto.
I live by it.