February 9, 2014

I spend my whole life                                                                                             
     trying to read you

while simultaneously trying to make my face
     a page in a book
     you wrote

so you would come home every day just to dwell on the words on my mouth,
     spend so much time with them
     that one day you might run your fingers
     through the pages in my hair,
     cherish the personification of desire
     that you made

and be pleased.

Today you said you can’t read me

and I realized
that if you tried, you wouldn’t even find me in the footnotes
because its easy to get carried away with a red pen
and all the time in the world

I’m writing you this

and though the sleeve wearing my heart is paper-thin
I swore to myself I’d publish…

Today you said you can't read me

but I say
you can.

Please, tell me I'm not your average library novel
free me
word for word
weaken the stiffness of my spine
hold me 
run your fingers down my back

and make me your well-read favorite.