book
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If you were a book, you would be an original, old, hard bound found in the classic literature section.
Quietly sitting in the back of an old antique bookstore.
In this modern world of hustle and bustle.
When I hear the pages of a book, rustle.
At the end of the day when everyone is gone.
In the darkness of the night when I feel alone.
Fresh new book opens wide and swallows me whole!Taking time to acclimate I catch my breath,Focusing as scenes and characters unfoldTo instill memories of their length and breadth.
My life was a book I had left on the shelf
A story I always said I would read
Collecting dust and coffee stains
Although I don’t even like coffee
But then I met you.
And for the first time,
Thank the lord for Maya Angelou
When the world went fast, she took things slow
Her hopes held high when her head hung low
She spoke her truth so we all could know
The good lord gave us Maya Angelou
My body was a book
my body was a book that my mother read to me every night
my body is a book that I didn’t want to read
because who wants to read a book about a girl who is
3’11
disabled
New ones, soft, thin, smell like a new magazine.
To a jail? A hell? A cage? No
To a library, gather the knowledge, read the books.
One, the book of life, we do not read.
We write. This new year, this new passage.
THE BOOK
A book made of secrets,
from the bottom of the lake,
the shattered home life,
and the top of the Catskills.
Maybe I love her more.
Then again maybe she loves me more.
To her love is a test.
I know I've missed my share of answers.
I looked at the clock.
Knowing I need to take my time but can't slow down.
I hold this book within my hands,
Its pages are my contraband,
The words it speaks are just for me,
Its images are all I see,
I cannot look up from the ink,
I do not know that what I think
She was a freak like me,
that amazon woman-teacher.
My eyes ricochet like pin-balls.
Like a blue-black sky after it’s rained
and rained…
Being small was never a problem.
It meant Max could crawl into small spaces,.
And being last in class to lose his first baby tooth,
Was also never a problem--
The smell of ink and paper
The flutter of turning pages
Faraway
Lands
Magic
Things
Incredible
People
Friends.
People look at you,
And just see your past.
They see your tattoos,
And your jaded mask.
But I look much further,
And deeper within.
What I see inside you
Is a true gentleman.
I see a heart
As my Pen runs out of Ink, I'm forced to stare, to stop and think.
This Pen that flitters, jumps and dances; over page it skitters, prances
This Pen that colors, draws, and spells: This Pen, which over wording swells.
I tiptoed on the patio to keep my feet warm
I unfolded my book and began to read
Just as I spotted a red leaf in the tree
It's a metaphor, you see
That one little leaf
I tucked my knees into my chest
“What do you believe in the most?”
-- The magic
That starts
When you put together
Two broken hearts
And find
They make a whole
It was a breath
Of fresh air
Taking off
The words
Of him
Of her
Of them
And cloaking myself
We were the definition
In front of neon lights
Of what change was
How one person
Insecure
Ugly
Me
Did you see it
In my eyes?
How five words
...or was it six…?
Made me the happiest
Girl
Happiest friend
I guess I mistook
The reasons I have you
And the reasons you have me
We aren’t meant to fall in love
Now
Or ever
I’m meant to be
If the body is a blank canvas
Let me paint a picture
Through the kisses
Telling you what is now
Through the time in my arms
No honey please don’t be so sad…
Trust me
I know
Everything
Because I was you
In a way I still am
Please…
What if dying isn't deathIf when we leave this world…
The weight of it is simply off our chest
When we take that final breath
Last night I saw you in a neon dream
all lit up in a throw back scene
the streets were wet in reflective haze
where the truth is shadowed
by the fire's blaze.
Mathaya,
I, your author, write
To encourage you for the
Coming days ahead.
My main character
Is you; you’ll learn hard lessons.
You’ll come through each one.
You were a library book with the pages glued shut
Sixteen years of abandoned backstory.
With what pivots and plot twists do to anti-climax.
You were a language I’d forgotten
A play without the final act
Beginnings.
The first page. The first wave.
For later, it describes the first date.
Emotions bonded within the first chapter.
Feels like a happily ever after.
Captured.
By lust and compassion.
You were written in
Countless languages at once;
You have no possible
Translations.
The Bible is a how-to book, it teaches people how to gain eternal life.Please read it and share it with your children and your husband or wife.It teaches us not to worship false gods and not to steal.
Today I saw you’re the books your favorite author wrote. I still have all those books you gave me sitting in a pile under a small blue table that you helped me build one day when my parents weren’t home.
Everything in our life is a part of our story.
It is continuously being written.
There is an angel watching our every move.
With a pen in its hand.
Everyone and everything here is old; archaic.The new things and people are but copies of generations before.Arranged a little differently, perhaps.They are restored classics; cliché- yet contemporary; chic.
My body is my bookMy creases the linesMy scars are the action scenesMy tears are the tearjerkersMy ears ears collect the sounds of lifethat run through the wires to my computer, my brain
This is my book of poems;Poems I swore not to write.Somehow I couldn't help it,Temptation: too much a fight.
Oxygen deprivation
Is an awful thing indeed
Light headedness, blackout
Hemoglobin in desperate need
But yet as scary as this seems
Of all the priorities it supercedes
It's nowhere near as vital
the girl sits in her fluffy bedroom chair
curled up
blanket-covered
a book in front of her
and she is crying, because
her favorite character died
or someone told the truth and it hurt
Pages torn and frayed
The feel of paper under my fingers
I get lost in the words
The vividness, the scenery
That the author paints with words
I couldn't live without my flash drive.
I've written a book on there that I always want close to my heart.
Even if I can't plug in the flash drive to a computer and read it,
All I need
Is you baby
You are my one
You are my only
I can't live without you
And I never doubt you
You catch me like a hook
You are my one and only
My favorite book
Stranded and alone
Nothing to do but look
But I do have one thing
A nice big book
Adventures galore
Oh what this book has in store
Until something new
Washes up on shore
One thing I cannot live without is my book.
My book is knowledge.
To live without knowledge
is like living without words.
Words help create a vision.
I envision my life without my book.
This tale true and only, it tells about you my love.
Bewitched, Fascinating, and Enlightened.
A book holding secrets and stories,
Showing images, and some never done.
Lost, Vanished, Forgattened, and Senile.
He was a beautiful chapter from cover to cover.
Every star crossed moment, I will hold to forever.
The silver letters, the golden pages...
My God, it feels like it has been ages.
“Naughty Girl!
DO You know?
Where the wicked go?
After Death?”
Asked A Sadist
TO A Small Girl
“They GO
TO Hell”
The Girl replied
“What Must
You DO?
Upon first glance It seems interesting enough.
I’ll consider it.
The first few pages intrigued me.
I'll bring this one with me
And read it on the bus ride home.
I’m learning more and more,
Invisible Man
I should be reading you now
I have a test and essay due on the morrow
On your guts and analitical power
But no
I'm here
Here doing Nothing
On powerpoem express
You bring me joy but at the same time pain,
You seem to dictate my life as you wish;
But you take it all for your own gain.
I flip your pages trying to retain,
I am filled with lost hopes and dreams
and confusing words, lines, pages
what does this mean?
I'm still in the process of adding words
still trying to figure out this thing called "Life"
One day you are going to wake up and notice that you should've tried. You are worth the fight. Stop the Negative as well as start the positive. Vast things happen when you distance yourself from the negative.
when I am feeling down, but not feeling music I get my radio then I tune it, I throw my hands in the air and wave like I just dont really care.
Life will knock you down.
What lifts you up?
Maybe it’s the way
His eyes sparkle against the sunset.
I anxiously await the day
My novel is confirmed to play
To invade your minds
With my tantalizing words
For my characters to wound
To uplift, to hurt.
For the hours I've spent
In silence to toil
Let me tell you my friend, she was special
Not that I could’ve chosen from several
But she was my favorite out of the rest
We became close, on the journey out west
Antonia was my best childhood friend
I have a smallish voice.
It carries the weight of massive expression,
But bears it alone.
My visions detonate in the world around me,
They scatter and end up in every corner
Perfection is key and the standards are locked
We are all forced to be birds of the flock.
No sorrow or pain,
No fortunes or gains.
A life where your memories aren't your own
But some broken and cloned.
Your eyes so beautiful,
Reminding me of a warm mocha coffee on a chilly, cold day,
Your smile so radiant,
My heart, just like my face,
Is an open book.
Anyone who comes upon it
Is free to take a look.
What my mouth does not say,
My eyes might as well scream.
There is no cover, no disguise
I write for you.
The one who is always on my mind,
The one who always seems so close.
I write for you.
My love, my one, my only,
My life, my drive, my soul.
I write for you.
I wish I were many things,
but to be many things
I would need to be a writer.
A writer creates what they want to see and feel.
Reading develops the mind.
It controls you and changes you.
Reading a book is an adventure, that all should take a ride on.
Reading an inspirational piece is something that makes you grow.
If you find something you love; then you'll never work a day of your life. I was told this as a child. I was told this as a teen and now im just understanding the concept of how it can effect my life.
Even when I die
My voice shall cry
Immortalized through
The mind`s eye
Even if I rot
You will not forgot
You will hear my poetry
More than the ticking of the clock
Sometimes I just lay on my bedThoughts and memories swarming in my head.I try to remember the good times I've hadBut they somehow slip away, always making me mad.
Innocent people being hooked on the blue book,
becoming dull robots that speak in code;
it comes in your sleep taking your intellect like a crook,
by bribing you with a new mode.
Im addiceted to help
To put others needs before mine
Why?
Cause we live in a cruel world.
One where gossip is a hobby
Being mean to others is perfectly normal
Killing others with words is typical
He read me like a book
Paying attention to every detail
Remembering every word
Taking notice to every detail
He read every crevice of my life
We hold a high position.Standing with a strong attitude in the way we walk and talk.No man will respect the women who can’t run her own race, but every man will respect the woman who can hold her own.
A blur of faces and
forgotten names
a veil of peace
hides love and
Pain
We are all so similar,
so why do we hide?
don't judge a book by its cover
we are all the same inside
At a glance...
Years are
Engraved on the forehead
Eroded by concealer
Souls are
Peering from the eyes
Blocked by avoidance
Ignorance is
Spoken boastfully
To those who will listen
I have always wantedTo write a book,But could I never find the inspiration.I finally found itIn her eyesAnd the way her tears flowed outLike rain(She was the only person I know
If you weren't rogue maybe we could have been
If maybe I wasn't human it would have worked
We both are who we are though
And still we fight for each others hands
What is magic
For me words seem to fly off the page
Creating a new world to live in
Forgetting all your problems if only for a moment
The rush of sword fights, lovers, unusual worlds
I shaped a universe today,
just a little more than I had the day before.
I added rain on another planet,
far from the plot,
and though the souls on earth will never see the rain,
they will feel it.
I am from hoodies,
From dry hands and hard work,
I am from the debts of Daddy’s addiction,
(False hopes, hoping all this was just a
nightmare.)
What makes the hair on your arms rise,
your palms sweat,
the breath catch in your chest like a wild thing caged?
Is it the dark?
A fleeting memory of a bed ime story,
I smile when I read this line of Shakespeare
And I nod to myself
And think
That never have I been so satisfied
With a few words typed on paper.
