I am an open book.

Turn those dried, crisp leaves and read sordid tales

Of my past and scribbles for the future.

Don't judge me by the smudges that scar the reading.

Where tears have splashed the ink across the page and

Obliterated the passions of that hour.

Perhaps, you will be able to fill blank spaces

Where my tired soul has omitted to make mention of 

Trying times that needed too much of an explanation.

On some pages the words like shards of glass cut deep

And reveal the frailty of my human existence.

"Man must be man enough." they say.

So I buried my emotions and left mud trails on pages

That do not tell you where to find them.

The blank pages are ones I love the most!

We can fill them in with stories untold;

Of a collective consciousness

Where I -YOU-THEY

Can rewrite endings and create new beginnings-

Break walls and fill the pervading silence with the harmony

That escaped our warped worlds.

"I hate reading,"You say.

"The words I read form shapes but offer no meaning"

And I curse mums and dads who felt

It was so unimportant at the time.