Blast from the past

     While I was putting away The Cross Centered Life by C.J. Mahaney the other night, a book caught my eye. I know full well the contents of this book, though I have never read it. I know there is a post-it note in this book for 5 years now. I know that it is marking page 28 and yet, it has never been read. It sits on the book shelf, collecting imaginary dust. It gets moved around - but not opened. In 5 years only page 28 has been read - though I think it's only been read 4 times. Twice by me, once by the Hubster and once by my high school english teacher. It's her fault that this book is even in my possession. It's her fault that there is a post it not marking page 28. It's her fault that page 28 even exists. It's a sad thing to think of this book and the beauty and art that it holds and know that the words on the pages have not been read - to know that the pages have not even been thumbed through.
     So what's the big deal with this book? Inside contains a poem that was written many years ago and in which my junior year english grade depended on. It's not my best work, it's not even my favorite - and I don't really see myself in it much - though I don't try to see myself in it either. So I'm making a goal, I will read through this beautiful and inspiring 150 page book - though there is no time line. After all, books are written to be read. Poetry is written to be read - to be felt, contemplated, and (for me at least) to be cherished and taken to heart. It's sincere, and the courage one has in bearing his heart in such a way is beautiful - even if the message may not be. So I'll read this - because these kids, who are no longer kids anymore, poured their hearts out through these words - and someone should take the time to read it.


     And now you're curious as to what page 28 contains -so I'll post it. Though I don't like the way it flows and though I don't believe it's who I am; it was at one point. I suppose that's the important part.

My Poems

I do not like

letting people see

all of my poems,

they'll see too much "me".

Every one of my poems

is a window into me,

I don't like people knowing

how delicate I can be.

If they were to read them

they could see my secret life-

the one that isn't perfect,

the one with so much strife.

Through my poems they would know

the deepest parts of me;

the parts no one's aware of,

the parts no one can see,

If I knew I could handle it

I wouldn't stay hidden away,

but I'm afraid that if they know,

there is no way that they would stay.

That is why I do not like

letting the people see

all of the poems I've written,

they will see too much of "me".

     I don't really write poetry anymore -  It's a sad sort of thing I suppose. I feel like I may have lost that creative ability- if it even was an "ability" to begin with; I feel as if I'm parched - and I think there's a lot I would do for a glass of water.