An Open Book

we all have a story

and the cliche “don’t judge a book by its cover”

may actually have a deeper meaning than we all realize

I have this idea that if we opened up our own book

and began the lifelong read, we would release our fragility

as we break the spines and crinkle delicate pages;

awakening our humanness and vulnerability

and if we focused on our story instead of our cover

we wouldn’t be bothered by what others think because

we would already deeply relate to the protagonist.

and why would we believe others know more than we

about a book they have not even bothered to read?

we wouldn’t.

we would trust our own judgement

and though we may look upon the tattered book

and remember how perfect it looked before we opened it up,

it is...

somehow...

much more beautiful to us now

because if you judged me based on the cover you see,

and told me whatever you wanted me to believe was inside

I guess I wouldn’t know any better,

if I hadn’t studied each and every line

but I spend more time within my book than I do the world outside

and when I do look up, I don’t take notice of your cover

I simply wonder what it is that you discover when you read alone at night

because the more time I spend within my pages

the less I want to close up and try to escape

the less I want to see others but rather read whats on their pages.

because I find the less time I give to my cover,

the more it actually changes and as I age

I don’t mind how, to the world, I will look...

because another cliche I will forever embrace:

I am an open book

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