my mom came home today,
i wrote, in my torn, stained journal,
and didn't even
care
that i was in the same room.

my dad,
he was asleep,
when i tried,
to have him hold me.

my sister,
she was gone.
off with a boyfriend,
who would just keep using her
no matter what.

my brother,
he's gone too.
doesn't matter where,
as long as he's away from here.

i didn't get any calls.
i didn't get any texts.
i didn't even get an acknowledgement.
diary,
will you comfort me?

i paused, clutching my pen, and clutching my book.
my shaky hand,
only writing
three more words.

it's my birthday.