I used to think men
should be more like books
Both you cannot
judge by looks...
If I didn't want to finish reading
I put it down... no heart was bleeding
A book will never fuss or fight
It will stay with you
through the night...
It doesn't smoke. It doesn't drink.
It won't leave toothpaste
in the sink!
It doesn't binge... it don't eat...
It won't leave up the toilet seat!
It don't forget. It doesn't mope.
It won't hog the TV remote!
It doesn't have to have
The last say...
It doesn't have legs
to walk away.
But it's not soft. It isn't warm.
It doesn't keep you
safe from harm.
Even though it makes no fuss
It can't think. It can't discuss.
Even though it has its charms
it can't hold you in its arms.
It doesn't pine. It doesn't miss.
It can't hug and it can't kiss.
So now I think on it again...
... I think BOOKS should be
more like MEN!!!
i have plenty of unread books
supposed have been read
at a good nook
these books I have
are stacked on one shelf
cause time hasn’t given
a minute for myself
these books I have
are my companions
when I’m split into halves
and I cant help that
I'm a hardback book bound tight-
Always on the rewrite
every word placed right
because it's so important;
that you read me right;
that you see things right;
undress your mind for me
under the right light
I don't want tears tonight
if I tell you it's not serious
or when I make you work or wait
it's obviously worth the work
and even more than worth your wait.
I don't like games
I play it straight;
you're either with it
or you ain't.
So if you do not like the blurb
don't bother reading my first page.
something other than love poetry for the lady in the back please
I've learned my ABCs at one,
learned to read by four,
constructed my paragraphs at six,
a know-it-all reciting parts of speech by seven.
Letters assembled themselves ready for scrabble.
Rocks, paper, scissors,
I never learned to let go of the paper.
And grew up with dry fingers caressing books.
Breathing in language and literature.
They say you can only love something so much
until it leaves you empty.
But I've only ever truly loved a few things about life,
and first was how words strung empathy.
The way I wrote about tying yellow ribbons on trees for a hero at eleven,
wrote about anything that won me passports to a passion I had to sacrifice a few years later after fourteen,
wrote about the boy who broke my heart at seventeen,
wrote about the monsters in my head at nineteen.
I don't know how words always found me
whenever I tried to run away from the world;
how they kept my sanity along with melodies for as long as I can remember,
and made countless others feel less alone.
What I love is a weapon
that has sparked revolutions, waged wars.
What I love is art that built acropolises from embers
and most the world's wonders.
It rushes euphoriant through my veins as much as it does through yours,
yet it is neither blood nor oxygen.
It is all the words burning as we keep them hidden,
dying for us to give them meaning.
...are a study on a subject matter
that someone else has undertaken
on your behalf.
Confused and misguided I found myself in the bookstore,
Looking for myself in the writing of poets,
Where pain and love met, I yearned for more
Found myself in disguise, broken, feeling time fly
Broken and insecure, I found myself in the bookstore.
Reading about my past lovers, was I not strong enough for the storm?
Loved a man who failed to explore,
The woman inside me begging for more
Lost but committed, I found myself in the bookstore.
Reminiscing on our lust, was I a bore?
Picking up a book filled with promises,
Will I ever get what love has in store?
Running towards lust, I ended up broken in the bookstore.
You left me broken but wanting more
Addicted to your soul, I failed to remember..
That I met you at the bookstore
-Henessy J. Beltre
bookstores and libraries bring a great level of tranquility.
(© Henessy J. Beltre 10.10.2018)
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
and my future self
who will one day read those tabs
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
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
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
Oh, you were a book that I’ve only ever heard of.
Never once have I been able to read you
But when I did get a chance
I studied your cover and fell in love with your spine.
But I chose to put you back instead of buy you.
I did love you though.
October 15, 2018