For The Ones Who Read

"For Those Who Read"
2007

As reality seeped into her dreams

Relationships mirror fantasies on the screen

Flickering just in front her bed

Having influence on what occurs inside her head.

She wakes slowly as if trying to fight

The early ending of a blissful night

But alas, her struggle is all for naught

She can't regain that in which she sought.

Tired from a day's worth of time

Running mazes deep inside her mind

Wondering if she will ever find a man

One who will finally try to understand

The things with her that go unsaid

Spoken in little signs that often go unread

With technology's non-stop advance

She wonders if she will ever have the chance

To catch the one in her world wide web

And make her impression stick to him instead...

Her past attempts ended all the same

Wondering if it is herself that she must blame

With food for thought, she wished to feed them

With a pen, she wrote her dreams across her breasts

In hopes that a man will finally read them

Because she displays herself like an open book

But they only offer her a fleeting look

For they judge books like her solely by their covers

And she often made the illiterate her lovers

And the things that never made sense to me

Was she would show them the book's contents for free

So how would they appreciate the words

When they could easily touch the pages that were hers

But to me, this book is indeed a masterpiece

And I would read every word if the abuse would cease.

But in this world, with pleasure just a click away

Do we value anything that will actually stay

On a shelf or desk, to finally gather dust

But to me it seems the world would rather lust

To be gratified instantly, to make them feel fulfilled

And foolishly ignore every drop of sweat we've ever spilled

Like those drops were written on our face

And we were sculptures tightly held in place

For the amusement of those who don't appreciate the art

Or those hoping time would help us fall apart

But our souls remain untouched, like they were set in stone

If it were up to me, they would chisel at their own

And leave ours to be free, in a museum in the sky

That was crystal blue, and angels didn't need to fly

To feel the admiration of the grounded

And our fears and dreams were never considered unfounded

But little works of art, constructed in our heart

During a previous life, in which the future had taken part

But none of this matter to anyone but God

After all even His book is often met with disregard.

So I shouldn't feel ashamed, or so quick to point the blame

At the ones who read, but can't pronounce my name.

For I am you. and you are me.

And with all of the hate in your veins,

It's no wonder that I have never been in love with me.

But then again, maybe one day I will learn how
For if you look through the eyes of the one you love
Then its the ones who hate that you can rise above...