I Was a Pervert

Hey Reader,

whoever You are,

I know you have got this letter

along with the diary.

Which means I am no where around to hide it anymore.

This diary,

it has been my most precious collection.

It has my plans, and,

many dirty secrets,

a few nude sketches,

bad fantasies and a lot of vulgar poetry.

Let not the world read it, for they will judge me.

And, let not my girlfriend find it, for,

she will judge me even more.

 

She is one from whom I have hidden it the most.

 

If you open the next page, though you shouldn't,

I have called her a beloved there.

But, it is just to flatter her, so that,

she feels good reading it,

and gets lost in sweet thoughts, forgetting,

to turn the pages ahead.

It isn't that I haven't loved her, but,

that what she didn't want me to do, I couldn't stop.

You see, I have my own passions.

Coming back, I say, keep this diary,

as far away from humankind as possible.

There are 51 sketches, and 52 poems.

And each poem talks about the sketch,

but you would call me a pervert seeing them, just as she used to.

when I drew sketches on the wall and my desk.

But, it isn't the case.

You see that is art, the fineness of my imagination mostly.

It takes time to think and then draw, how could you call it bad?

It stinks when you accuse me. Your breath, I mean.

That is what I had felt coming from her, too.

And so, I haven't let her find this diary, ever.

Coming to that 52nd sketch

It was her, which I never felt like doing up.

Because I knew,

someday, someone else would be holding on to this book.

And how could I let her stand there in its pages,

NAKED

in someone else's hands.

You, see,

she was right.

I was a pervert.

Just, another social pervert.