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

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