Writing is hard, expression gets lost. I'll do my best to share my thoughts.
A closed book i am, a neat and tidy cover. Intriguing to most, all looking to discover.
Pick me up and peek inside, you see what you need, without any lies.
Some see a shiny cover, turn quickly away, thinking it's not possible... Their is no way.
Inviting to all to share what i have, each person decides weather they take a stab.
Most not able, to get to page one, quickly deciding 'meh im done'.
Some can turn pages, even see a few jokes. Most are not able, to see what matters most.
Looking inside, many faced with blank pages, what some people write is often outrageous.
A very small number, we'll say... a select few. See past the graffiti, but still can't see whats true.
Rarely and painful, real connection walks by. They could see the real me, if only they try.
More often, but also quite rare. Blank pages are seen. Left with an empty stare, wondering 'what does it mean?'.
Some write a chapter, some maybe three. Writing in what they think, should make me happy.
Some things written, great gifts they be. I even would say, i enjoy them greatly.
Seeing only blank pages, not stopping to think. Soon the day comes, they run out of ink.
Ink tank empty, all fun is gone. My blank pages begin to fall, one by one.
Return they may, startled to see. No blank pages are left. Only grafiti.
How many? Not sure, perhaps only one. As i see it, likely there's none.
Referring of course, to any someone; able to read my real person.
Beautiful writing, without graffiti. Pages filled with my amazing story.
Page by page I'm filled. No explanation needed, able to perceive.
Honest and real a connection so strong. Together we feel, any possible wrong.
Words are lost, no meaning to us. We bounce off each other's pure trust.
Keeping up with ease, no need to look back. Unconditionally accepting, bound by this track.
Incredible stories, written synchronously. Only hoping this done, pure and honestly.
Emotions can't hide, or be fabricated. I feel as you feel, so who are you trying to kid.
Finding yourself opening me, no blank pages left, and nothing to read? Our story has ended, I long to be freed.
Sad this can be, even lonely at first. Smile knowing you wrote that final verse.
An amazing book from cover to cover. Trapped, now waiting, for the next to discover.
What is to come is all up to you. Careful at best, you're able to thumb through. Left with a book, not able to read.
Never actually able, to see pure and be true. Decide what you will, chose what you'll do.
Now turning away at my every sight. Why do you continue this fight?
A magnificent book, now trapped on your shelf. Soon even I will lose sight of myself.
You open my book, you chose what to see. Great chapters were written, now I need to be free.
-FJLJ