A Poet's Book

We started fresh and new, skin glistening and clean

No words spoken, only endless possibility written across our clean surface.

Days passed and continue to pass

We grow, bend and flex under the world's words

Shifting and gaining a new weight on our pages.

You and I, Person and Book

Filled to the brim with words that would describe who we are; tell our story.

Is this the final copy?

No.

I take up my pen and begin to edit

Crossing out lines and painting a truer picture of me

Placed upon the lines of my poetry.