Ugly Old Book
You're breathing
Your heart is beating
You've been eating
So does this mean you're living
Or just existing?
Well just because these words Rhyme
And these syllables keep time
Doesn't make this a poem at all
This is a poem because
that's what I'm calling it.
Not because of the rule book
I won't follow it
So just because air flows in and then out
And you're heart is pumping blood all about
That all doesn't make me just one of the crowd
The thing that I love the most
Is what makes me, me
And that thing that I love
Just happens to be
This ugly old book
I got for three bucks
Nobody wanted it
But Nobody is me
Now this book had no words
So I had to fill it
with my dreams and my hopes
And my grime and my grit
There are already a few hundred pages filled
And when I read my words I'm often quite thrilled
Not because they dance gracefully
But because they show me such happy memories.
This ugly old book has become my best friend
And I'll continue to write in it until the end
Of the pages that smell just like old people
Then I'll read again all about the Beatles
My new favorite band when I was fifteen
Or the boy on my bus
He was so freaking mean
This book is my most prized possession
Inside it are my every confession
Every lie every guilt
And all the happy stuff too
So old ugly book,
I can’t live with you