Spurious Discounts

I decide to fill the pages of an old diary book

It gives me a scornful leave-me-alone look

I begin placating it by writing happy songs

It scoffs; instead, settles for spurious discounts

How I love staying alone?

Even it means touching the dry hair with wet hands on.

I am a saggy grape

Weeping verve in a jostle of escape

Like cowlicks begging to be draped.

Heat radiating off a face after a cold face pack

Warm like a bathroom just after someone has taken a bath

I am the low-toned right answer

Out of a diffident section of a class.