The last page of my notebook was a champion.
Where I checked if my pens worked,
Hid my Geometry marks and hoped they would disappear,
Made a scratch here and a dent there and,
I still had a friend who wouldn’t crib and still stay.
The last page of my notebook was a survivor.
Where I calculated love in percentages for a boy who wouldn’t reciprocate,
Where I wrote my first poems dedicated to my best friend and our antics,
Where I doodled my deepest desires and hid them away,
Where I found a piece of me that I assumed had wandered away.
The last page of my notebook was a lover.
It told me of the possibilities of infinity,
It showed me the luxury of imagination.
It brought me a song here, a story there.
But mostly, it kept me sane through a teenagers hope and despair.