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Dear Diary,

I want to tell you that my life upended when nobody wanted to come to my 

birthday party last year. I even invited my best friend, but he didn't want to 

go, either.

So here I am with you, like a lover with their love interest. Although you're 

not real, I still...

I turn my head To see my best friend's ex-girlfriend staring out the window. 

What are you looking at? I wonder.

She is still there, looking outside, moving her head a little. But I don't 

care anymore. She'll tell me later.

Anyway, diary--

"What!" I say as she points out the window, and goes over to it. I jumped out 

of bed and freaking scream as I bolt for the front door. No, no! The fox got 

into my newly planted roses again--the ones my best friend bought me. Stupid fox. It didn't remind me of the rose-pinkness of my bedroom or unicorns and rainbows I'd draw on my bedroom walls as a child. Horrible flashbacks of my mother washing all the white unicorns and pretty rainbows away and admonishing me in loud voice to stop drawing on my draw-proof walls streamed through. The unicorns struggled to avoid the waterfalls of paint gushing over them and the rainbows just bowed in humility. Or weakness. I didn't care about the rainbows. All I did was beg my mother, but she didn't listen. She just painted.

No hugs, kisses or talks. Just painting over my drawings. My mother never showed me love. My father--he left. I was an only child.

I bought a gun. I shot the fox. I wore it to school, everyone called me the 

fox girl. I didn't care. I don't care anymore.

One day, I threw my diary in the trash, my old one. I can't, can't bring 

myself to break my relationship with you, diary. It's like I'm in Barbieland 

and I can't break ties with--

Now another fox is eating my--

I almost have a heartattack. My best friend's ex is giving each page to it! I 

grab my gun and fire.

We're at the funeral of my best friend's ex. I didn't mean it. I thought I was 

going to hit the fox. I hunted that fox down, day and night. I shot it and wore 

It's fur around the detention center. I know, I shouldnt be proud of killing an 

animal, but you know.

I don't care.

Why should I when someone else says all the wrong things and does all the 

wrong things?

It's not Barbieland anymore. Everything was great until my best friend asked 

me whether I would like to stay in jail for two months with no diary or diary 

plus--

I told him to burn it. Burn every page. Every time I went to bed in this 

cramped place of a bedroom, I stare at the metal rungs of the bed above me. 

That gun comes to mind. I contemplate....

He wants to get married. I want to--

"Phone's for you."

"I want to get married. Please--for me?"

"Ken--"

"It's not Ken anymore. Right? Please--you're living in a perfect world of--"

"Okay food, warm water and hours and hours of poop cleaning. I live near a 

stall."

"Get your mind straightened out, Barbie!"

"My name's not--"

Click. 

I stare at the phone and then hang it back. Back to the bed after a grueling 

ten hours of hard labor. I wish I were under the stars. Gazing at endless stars.

One day, while cleaning out someone's gutters, I pulled out a bullet. 

Horrified, I alerted the guards, who took matters into their own hands and

thanked me.

I never received a thank you. Not from my bff, his ex or even mom. No one's 

thanked me. But the people around me have. And are.

I smiled, tears in my eyes. 

"You're welcome!"

Some other teens told me to keep it on the DL when listening to music. I 

listened. I called my BFF, but he never answered. So I let him go.

Thinking that night on my bed, I told myself I never wanted to call him again. 

He never answers.

I gave up on him.

I met a young guy 2 years my senior, and we became fast friends. Over the 

months we were locked up, I had trouble sleeping because I knew my time was 

almost up. I didn't want to lose him. We became pretty close.

One night, I was sitting outside. Under the stars. He sat down next to me. And 

looked up.

"Look at all those stars!"

He almost sounded poetic. 

I just gazed at them. He leaned back, I saw after soaking in such wonder, and 

mumbled something.

"Huh?"

"Nuthin'."

"I had a friend once. But he moved on."

"Oh."

I looked at him. He ignored me. I thought we were friends. The next morning, I 

got up and went to the bathroom. I cried, for no one loved me.

I thought of a passion I have. I tried for sports but all for nothing. I got 

hooked on writing, and couldn't stop.

My letters and recipes I have saved from cooking classes and baking courses 

are still with me. Now that I'm out of there. But I'm still not.

I moved. 

Met a guy. 

But he had a girlfriend.

I slammed my apartment door closed. Stormed up to my room. Screamed into my 

mirror.

Then thoughts started streaming though. Im not Barbie and Ken is not my 

boyfriend. I need to live in reality. Not Barbieland.

So I grabbed my purse and headed out to the car one day with my keys and 

headed to the restuarant. We chatted for a long time. He was single.

I was single. 

It was fun. The two of us gazing at stars. 

Sometimes, gazing into each other's eyes. 

And then letting our lips touch.

At our wedding. 

I put my diary down, and turned around. My husband was staring out the window. A fantasy world of forest and space combined.

Awaited us.

I took a leash, and said to get going.

The fox came. I understood its animal noises, but my adoring husband and I clapsed hands, every time.

We loved each other.

That fox skipped along, but we talked together.

A long time.

Under a world of stars.