Autobiography

if i opened myself for you,

like a book bound in read leather,

would you read me?

would i be close enough to the front

to catch your eye?

and would the title be enough

would you to look at page one?

what then?

so you've read the first several chapters.

but i looked so beautiful on the shelf.

put me back quickly,

make me pretty again.

or you can continue on.

am i more of the same?

am i even worth your time?

so you're almost done with me.

will the end be enough?

maybe you should put me back.

save yourself.

sometimes there is no climax before the end.

set me down.

store me away.

but you've made it so far,

there's so little left.

don't you want to know?

isn't it tearing you up?

read on, read on.

and now you've read it all.

and you look to me,

with a teer in your eye,

crying for me.

for my pain.

for my strength.

for me.

but you don't understand.

i don't want you to cry.

i don't want to cry.

you're finished the book.

with a smile and a nod,

i reopen it

to show you

the pages are empty.