Air comes out of her mouth in short, loud breaths.
Her palms are sweaty
Anticipation is in her eyes, as her mom reads the pages
The pages that were never meant for anybody to see,
But after writing them she realized that they had to be shown.
Because words are meant to be heard, read and said. Not just written.
If she had know, the pen would never had touched the paper
Now she brushes her hair behind her ear, as her mom finishes the last line with a heavy sigh.
"I don't understand," her mom says, and she realizes that they'll never understand.
That her kryptic codes are for her only to detangle, and all they'll ever do is guess.
All they'll ever do is worry, because what if something's wrong?
And something is wrong. Plenty of things are wrong, but not they things they have in mind.
Because they'll never understand.

So I just keep on fighting to be heard, with the pen as my greatest weapon, because I'm tired of this ****.