Excerpt from the school diary of Nathan J. Leozegir.
You must login to vote
I have just started this journal or diary because during class I need to write something. My teacher really doesnít care what. As long as I do something, I will be fine. The teacher knows that I am writing something, but unfortunately for her she will never see this diary because I will never let it leave its secret place.
You know Chalkboard, since you are the only one that will ever know about this, because I know that you are everywhere, even though you are usually right up front, I will share most of my feeling with you, Chalkboard, because I know that you care.
Sometimes I feel like furniture, or even a rug. Please donít laugh Chalkboard, because I really need to get this out of my system. There are people who just walk right over me, like I was meant to be walked over. I am not a rug, Chalkboard, no matter how bad I may be at anything, no one really deserves to not be cared about by anybody. It is really awful. I feel as though there are no other ways to say this, so Iím going to put it out straight. I am totally and completely ignored.
Life is not very good Chalkboard, but people tell me that I have so much going for me. But I really donít think so. I may be good at some things, but I really donít have a whole lot to live for. Sometimes I just want people to leave me alone, so I can just get away and live my life the way that I want to.
Eventually, Chalkboard, someone will come across this and think that I am totally crazy to write this. I donít think so. I guess that eventually theyíll figure out that I am some sort of lonely wretch that has no real purpose in this world. But Chalkboard, thatís all right with me, because by the time someone finds this I will be gone a long way away, never to return to this place where I am now.
So, Chalkboard, I will now say goodbye until another time as that I feel that I must put my most dear thoughts onto a crisp sheet of paper. Good bye, Chalkboard, good bye.
Nathan J. Leozegir
To all who know not the message in this story:
There is a message in this story,
One that no one but the author knows.
The trick is hidden in the words,
And the message grows and grows.
One can find the secret here in the only name.
Not that of the writer, but the only other one.
The message to all is still the same.
Mixed up thrown together, taken, added to.
If you can find the moral, then you will truly know.
The person who knows all of your life,
And nurtures you as you grow.