I like leather bound books

  Filled with papyrus pages

  Covered in pounce dried ink

  I like leather bound books

  Maybe that’s hard to understand?

  Because a leather bound book I think of

  Is not the same book you think of

  Nobody thinks like I think or you think

  And I just have to accept that

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  Because lately it’s been easier to lie than explain

  That my brain operates on a different wavelength

  And I have these thoughts that don’t work on paper

  Because I don’t think with the words that people use

  You can’t copy and paste creativity

  Am I the only one who can tell when things sound pat?

  I write to survive and I share just because

  Even though I’m afraid of the hate and the laughs

  Because fear is cheap

  But at least love is free

  And that was so cheesy I threw up a bit

  But I still believe it

  So I guess I disgust myself

  I don’t write for me

  Because I don’t deserve good things

  I can’t explain why

  But I like leather bound books

  Waiting on a shelf and wanting to be special