SOME BACKGROUND INFO: I recently bought a little book from Walgreens that is presumably intended for a diary/journal. I have discussed with my mom the journal and my intentions to keep it to express my feelings/secrets/etc and have told her not to read it. However, this was not my intention at all.

As of late, my mom has been becoming more and more sneaky in keeping an eye on what I'm doing. She always seems to be suspicious of what I'm doing and seems to think that I'm up to no good to a point of her spying on me, searching my car, reading my texts messages. She doesn't know that I am aware of this.

So I expect her without a doubt to read this little secret keeper of a journal. All that I've written in it is this poem, on the first page.

I'd have thought you would have more respect for me.

Have I died, passed away, something tragic?
What inclination, what possible logic
Rationalizes this outright void of privacy?

I have made my wishes loud and clear:
To this book, you won't go near.
I had a feeling you wouldn't resist.

So I arranged these jumbled, fumbling lyrics
To shine a light on your furtive antics
And to demand: cease and desist these petty strategies!

What exactly are you looking for?
Secrets, confessions, something more?
And what purpose would you find of them, even if obtained?

For I ask you now:

What purpose would ever be served
By spilling my secrets into words?
Can they not reside comfortably in my conscience?

My head is strong, so I need not fear;
You won't find my secrets here.
So please put this book down and carry on with the rest of your day.

Happy Hunting.

Just call me Julius, J, etc.
Taking an Internet break for a while, will come on when I can.
Yeah I can't wait until she reads it.

The bad part is that I'll never know when she reads it because she lacks the balls to confront me about it.