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Forgotten Notebooks

A brand new notebook
- The perfect surprise.
Within it I'll write
All the truths and the lies.

But as I pour my heart out,
My tears begin to fall.
Splashing. They land on the paper
As the notebook takes it all.
Look close into the tears
And tell me what you see.
Deep in the reflection
Is another side of me.
So much like a notebook
I cram the writing in.
Tales of mine and others
Are locked up safe within.

But occasion'ly a page is ripped
And what must happen then?
Ignore the notebook - let it rot
Until you call again.
And gradually the book gets old
- Worn around the edges.
Pages crumpled, colours fade,
Full of broken pledges.

All notebooks start life new and perfect,
Soon to change with time.
And as your tears splash on my pages
Your troubles become mine.

I don't honestly like it; it reminds me too straightforwardly of a girl I knew who was a blatant attention whore--did everything she could with crying and bad poetry to make people feel sorry for her. Believed she had the worst life in the world because she wasn't doted upon every day and wasn't friends with every person in her class year.

I wouldn't mind seeing the entire poem about a notebook or several notebooks. But I don't want to hear about you. As a reader I don't care about your pain, I want to hear about these notebooks, about their tears, not yours. Does that make any sense? When you make it explicitly about you in such a manner that it doesn't connect or reach out to the reader in the least, it doesn't really move a person. It doesn't make them want to care.

I like pieces of it, but the rhymes inside were too simple. Some of the pieces I liked:
"And gradually the book gets old
- Worn around the edges.
Pages crumpled, colours fade,
Full of broken pledges."
"All notebooks start life new and perfect,
Soon to change with time."

I really have to say that I find the poem to fall within the category of angst.
-All the truths and the lies.
-But as I pour my heart out,
My tears begin to fall.
-Is another side of me.
And yes, poets write connected to themselves, but they need to expand towards the reader, because they will read their own poem, won't they? They'll understand everything but if no one else can understand it then it must be a very personal poem. This isn't a personal poem to me, it doesn't connect to me. If it's a personal poem for the writer then maybe she shouldn't share it. She can, of course, but she shouldn't expect other people to understand it fully and to give her criticism as such.

I've also never been a fan of simplistic rhymes. Never. It appears too much like a writer is going for the easy way out, the easy rhyme. And how you described your interpretation of it could be said about any rhyme scheme she could have used: complex, none at all, simple, moderate, internal, external, anything really.