X: If These Walls Could Talk

If these walls could talk...oh, how I would dread those dark and
private secrets they would tell. They would tell what was truly written
under that scribble on my desk. They would tell just who was here, when
and even why. They would tell the words that come from my mouth when I
think that no one hears. Oh, how I would dread those dark and private
secrets they would tell...if these walls could talk. So I might as well
confess:

Under that scribble lies the name of that sweet person whom I so dearly
love. I wrote I the best I could, with little hearts and all. It stayed
there, open, for about 3 minutes until my brother barged through my
door. I chased him out and decided not to take anymore chances. And now
that name, that beautiful name, lies under that sickening scribble, as
rust on iron.

'He' was here too. That hour went by like 30 seconds, but the hours
that followed felt like 30 years. No one knows that 'he' was here. I
was a good girl, don't worry. I had a party with my friends here.
That's why I have a coke stain on my carpet. To my parents, I have no
idea how it got there. I also don't know how the pink, permanent, pen
mark got on to my bedspread.

I had a fight with my mom once, "I hate her! Why, why, why? Why is she
MY mother?!" I screamed. I cried for the next half an hour or so,
mumbling how unfair life is. I received a note about 'him'. "Thank You,
thank You God, for giving me such a perfect life!". I loved that
wonderful day. 'He' SMS' me and I type, "I hate you", but I say, " I
love you". My Mother shouted at my brothers for something I really did,
but looked like they did. "Ha, ha suckers!"

A page in my diary reads:
"My own best friend, a liar!
She promised not to tell Rhianne that I don't like her.
What does she do? Tells it,
word for word! GRRR!"

I eventually made up with her, after writing horrible things about both
of them, all over my jotter.

I don't always wash the make-up off my face or brush my teeth at night.
I check myself in vain at least twenty times inthe mirror before I
leave for school. I hide sweets under my jungle of clothes in my ocean
of a cupboard and I sit in the bathroom and sing the best anyone would
evr be able to sing, but never do in public.

You know what? I could be telling you lies. This could all be complete
rubbish made believable. You'll never know what my walls know and my
walls can't talk - I hope. "Ha, ha suckers!". But if these walls could
talk...Oh, how I dread the secrets they would tell.