i have so many tabs in the books i read
they are color coded and when you flip open the book
i usually have some sort of comment there
these comments range from witty to cynical to dark to brutally honest
either with myself
or a general statement about the world
no matter what it says
whether silly or serious
those comments are my secrets
the tabbed off sections of my mind that i keep for only myself
the bruises i keep concealed
the words i’m too afraid to speak out loud
secrets between myself
my book
and my future self
who will one day read those tabs
those comments
and think back to the reasons they were left
think about all the obstacles i had overcome
and all words i had once related to
my truest self lies within
the margins of books
highlighted quotes
and color coordinated tabs
that no one knows the meaning of
i am terrified of someone reading those sections
someone picking up any one of my books
and knowing how i really feel on the inside
it would be as if someone had stripped me of my clothes
and left me for judgement
one day
i’ll be able to let someone open my books
to let them observe my truest self
and i hope that person is willing
to show me
their tabs too

I hope someday you may gaze upon your reflection and finally see the man you have always wanted to be
Until that day I hope you may work tirelessly
Fixated on your goals
Lost in your dreams
Your soul searching
For its' tenacity
Only seeing yourself
With voracity
Mercy and grace
Til you may come to love
And accept
The man you have come to be
A man you can respect
A man you can face

Wouldst thou for me an air
upon thy tortoise lyre
play, and sing those words so fair
about the Isle of Tyre?

Within whose walls so grand,
there at bazaar would be
hangings made by weaver's hand,
and colored from the sea.

And ships of cedar made,
all crewed by ****** bold,
sailed to shores afar, to trade
for silk and spice and gold.

Consoled by sweet refrain,
I dwell in dreams of Tyre--
going home will e'er remain
my unfulfilled desire.

.
Merrytree the Holly sprite
danced across the snow,
no mark did she leave in sight
wither whether she doth go.

So joyful and magickal is she,
darting in betwixt the flakes,
her wild spirit cavorting free,
laughing at mischief she makes.



© Pagan Paul (30/08/18)