please place me on the bookshelf.
you can pick me up,
read the fine print,
crease my corners,
cross out the transgression,
and annotate the virtue.
but Please put me back on the
bookshelf.

If I’m left on trains or
on benches by the bus stop-
If I’m put in places I don’t belong-
I’ll fade.
my print will pale,
my creased corners won’t recover,
my transgressions and virtues
will interrogate themselves.

I’ll become the environment
my fickle pages are left in.

so please put me back and
never touch me again.


-*if we allow ourselves to be placed in bad environments,
eventually, we will become them.