I Might Be a Book
Letting an object come alive, through words.
I’m the source of anything and everything there is to know
shattered by the neglect of simple minds
and solidified by the tender vigilance of tulip-perfumed hands
caressing my vessel
I would rather be jolting awake
out of this eternal waiting room
brought back to the scene
of what I’m about
before those pens were put to paper
I meet an octillion folks a day, yet,
no one seems to stick around
they’d rather hang out with my new-born friends
or my neighbours
of other essences
I dream to have all my aspects met, fully
of being held, truly seen, and taken into consideration
I do tend to worry about the digitalisation of linguistics
the decay of authenticity
I want human’s eyes to look at me
in curiosity
for maybe, just maybe
I’ve got something new to teach them
I’m kept awake by the memory of an 11 winters young girl
whose tears felt thick
and of profound ache
I would let myself be rewritten
for her sake
I’ve made others move
I’ve saved lives
I’ve put people to bed
and I’ve handed them knowledge
gathered between the lines
for my language makes me be a little human at heart
I will choose night-time to be my favourite time of day
human beings then create most art and shed most tears
and creation in itself
equals me
