Before.

If I had a choice.
I'd pick a book without a voice.
A book of comfort,
who,
lay open bare.
Wet pages,
I'd skim,
decipher and fill in
Its own blank pages.
All the while,
ripping out my own spine,
to seal a crooked title
on an unpainted canvas.

And now.

If I had a choice
I'd pick a book that had a voice
that kept me reading,
even after the first chapter.
No more *******,
happily ever afters.
There would be sequels,
and short conclusions.
To a tale that is never-ending,
Because
they were brave enough,
to fill their pages.

And I'm wise enough,
to read,
and write,
my own.