Let me be an open book to you
That my pages would be primed for you to read
That your eyes might see the words written on my heart
The beautiful italics of my purest recollections
The news type of important dates and moments
But more than this
Let my entirety be an open book to you
The margins of my existence with their cramped and cluttered
scribbles
The doodles of my thoughts strewn across the page
The sticky notes and ribbons pointing to perfect moments and
moments where pride has caught me short
To rambling diary entries enchanted by thoughts beyond
comprehension
The bold typed bubble writing of the births of my children
The crossed-out retractions of things I’m ashamed I said
May all these things be in the visible book of my existence
before you
The empty unused pages where apathy reigned
Those words of hate I used for you when I felt that all was
lost
Tired pages filled with endless full-stops as I strive to
know the meaning
Let me be an open book to you
Bearing coffee stains, with twisted staples
Pencil graffiti and a torn cover
Let me be an open book to you
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