Books

Someone once said I love too much

That I am an open book

Ready to be neglected

And put back on the shelf

Because people would tear my pages

And scribble their malicious

Words onto me

Carelessly throw me around

Spill coffee on my spine

So my pages started to harden

My ink ran off the page

And my paper turned to cardboard

That won’t soften

Someone once said I hate too much

Try reading me

And look closer at the story

In my book that is now

Closed

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