I don’t open up very much,
But I don’t think it’s my fault.
I was once loved and highly sought after but
Now I’m simply not.
I feel as though they’ve seen all they want from me.
They act like I’ve given all I can.
What they don’t realize is if they gave me a chance, I would open them up in more ways than one.
In my youthful days, I told stories of new adventures.
I was unpredictable, fascinating, never dull or drab.
But they used me and used me until they were blasé
To my lessons and insights that I gave and gave and gave.
No one cares to hear me out, though my words are freely offered;
No one needs to hear the past when they’ve written about the future.
Even on the outside, you can tell I don’t feel new.
For my pages are folded, my binding undone.
They judge a book by its cover, and disregard me as outdated,
Oh, if I could shout I would tell them that they’re wrong!
The past isn’t dead, history set in stone,
When books like me are alive and well, just wishing to be read.
Picture Credits: Pinterest
