Books

Books stacked high.

I’ll likely never read them

I read 20 pages in

And talk about them 

like I know them

I carry them around with me

Like they’re mine

I wonder if it hurts their feelings.

They were written to be read

And here I am

Throwing them in a bag

And showing them off

Sometimes I feel like a book

I have a nice cover

Lots of fancy pages

I wonder if anyone cares enough

To read after things get scary

Find out the climax

Reach the end.

I might not be the best book

But if someone cared to read me

Maybe they’d know 

I’m better off on the shelf.