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I've been told
There is more than enough of me
But will I ever be enough?

Worth is not measured by body mass
In fact,
It seems nearly the opposite.
Worth is measured by how much
You are willing to lose yourself
To conform with society.

You once were a mitten
When you emerged from your mother's womb
Perfectly and intricately woven
With no other quite like you.

You loosely resembled our culture's standards
Based on the actions of your superiors.

As you evolved into a young person
Your peers seem to sneer
So you change your clothes
Change your hair
Maybe then they'll like you
Maybe then you'll be okay

You become a latex glove
Each one the same
Skin tight and molded to fit
Society's overbearing fingers.

You lost yourself
As the words
"Too fat"
"Too ugly"
Penetrated your impressionable mind

And so now
It would seem
That you are perfect for
Our army of robots
One by one
Marching to the media's drum
Same song over and over again

So make the choice
Tell yourself that whether
Your mental and physical densities
Happen to be subpar
Or if they are more than enough
That you are enough
For you.
If you would only stop
And take a look inside of me
You would see the sadness
That's left a hole in me

The smile you once gave me
Has left with out a trace
And every time I see you
I seem so out of place

You have no feelings for me
You lost that long ago
And yes there will come a day
That I will let you go

The long days of pain
That once I had for you
They're something that will not remain
Cause I'll get over you
A forest of trees
Sacrificed willingly
For the greater good
A medium of memories
Watch your step
The management is not responsible for personal injury
Refer to the Self-Help section
Second room to the right

The ghosts who congregate here
Holy and profane
Lament the passing of their generation
Guard against fire
For one little spark will bring the whole house down
With enough kindling to keep
It burning for days

I remember my first visit to the Bookery
The improbable tales of countless manuscripts
A sea of words, an ocean of ideas
Stories and poems to wear like clothes
A world on yellowing paper
Easier on the eye
A hundred miles I did drive
To find this treasure of treasures
When I got there I couldn't find a **** thing
But it was fine because I wanted everything

No out of the way bookstore or well organized library
The Bookery was a beast in it's own category
The disheveled nature of the books on the shelves
Made it a puzzle to solve
A maze you forget where center is
Distracted by the scenery on the way
Not much of a poem, I know. Just a silly tribute to a really cool  place. They even have a credit card machine now, but that doesn't mean  you can't haggle the old woman down to half price if you look intimidating enough.
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