Dear Diary

Dear Diary,

It’s the middle of May already.

Your pages are still blank, I’m sorry.

I was waiting for a good day.

But don’t think you’re not responsible,

with your memoranda and bank holidays.

How can I plan my life

When all these months I’ve been running

the other way?

Seven diaries lay unfinished

In the deluding frenzy of last Hogmanay.

Only those friends left behind

can complete the written cycle.

Three murders, two cancer, one heart attack

A fucking bus, and the last just let

His life slip away.

How can I string a sentence together

If there’s nothing left to say?

Oh diary, so solid, leather, secret, bounded.

You promise the future – then it’s taken away.

Each page a new horizon?

Each day to judge oneself by?

Each un-inked space an abyss of time?

But has anyone asked how I feel today.

Skye Baxter is a student living in London, who is passionate about writing, skydiving and dreaming. After her boyfriend passed away, Skye found her solace – and therapy – in writing poetry, which has helped her navigate her grief and explore the depths of her emotions. She is passionate about speaking up about mental health, exploring the meaning of life, and of de-stigmatising death and dying in society as – let’s face it – this is the only certainty we really have in life.