Friday, 1 November 2013

Let Me Be An Open Book To You

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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