She Was a Beacon of Hope To Others
She had personality plus people gravitated to her day and night.
Loving her in the best way never dreaming that she had a sad life.
Never knowing that she lived with evil in the form of a put down artist.
She built people up, and in droves, knowing what it felt like.
Understanding the evil that some live with every day.
Wanting to save them, as she had never saved herself.
She would have taken her secret to her grave except
I was the one who cleaned out her house, and I found her diary.
The one that told of her abject sadness, of her fear,
Of her day in and day out struggle toward any semblance
Of the cheerful façade she held out as a beacon of hope
For hundreds of others, and yet dared never claim for herself.
This diary must have been her only saving grace,
The thing that kept her going,
Therapy
I burned it
So I would
Be the one
To Take it
To my grave
To honor a woman
Who honored others
by never burdening
Them with her sadness.
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