If I had a leather bound diary
it would be partially fictional.
I would edit some days to fit
a happier brighter narrative.
We would have more hugs;
the yelling would be quieter.
I’m in my room exceling in math,
listening to hard rock by a lamp.
The bodegas will have more books.
Answers will be as abundant as rice.
This way when someone finds it
they will enjoy the things I couldn’t.