I haven’t read a real book in so long
And that feels wrong.
Sometimes I’ll look at the shelves
and reminisce about my past lives and selves.
I feel guilty that I’ve abandoned my friends
letting them become like odds and ends.
But my old dear friends have not forgotten me
for they still comfort me and let me be free.
And when I need to be reminded of what I learned
I look again through all the pages I’ve turned.
My books never let me be lonely, even when I was alone
And no matter how hurt I was they never let me be stone.
And then there were days when my anxious heart
tossed and turned like restless waves to tear me apart,
and my books gave me a sweet simple dream
when my demon’s eyes began to gleam.
Shelves and shelves of villains and heroes
fighting with their hearts, souls, swords and bows,
they taught me to take my stance,
set my sword and dance.
I am here now because they taught me to fight
I am here now because they taught me all will be alright.
I am here now because a dear friend of mine,
gave me my first book of poetry on each line.
A sister found comfort from these words
gave them to me and my thoughts flew like birds.
She saw in me what she fought herself
and gave me the first I would put on my shelf.
A small book of Edgar Allen Poe’s poetry,
that little book became a founding stone of me.
The depressing stories give me hope for my own
by the depressing words my happiness has grown.
I did not understand his words at first
but in the beauty and emotion I was immersed.
Reading that poor man’s words helped me to stand,
knowing there were people out there who understand.
And to this day on my own soul’s door
are the words that strangely enough bring me hope: “Nevermore.”
This is dedicated to my sister, teacher and friend. She saw me struggling at a young age and showed me an escape. She introduced me to the world of books and I can never thank her enough. I’m still going to say thank you though: THANKS CHUSHA!!!