Open Book

Open Book

A Poem by Ebits

About the realization that I have once every few months.


It's hard to be the way I am,

and not a soul quite understands.

The things that led to "me" today,

the things that make me seem this way.

The things I've done, the things I've seen,

and all the places that I've been.

The hard times and the harder ones;

the memories, what's done is done.

These people want the best of me,

but no one takes the time to see:

I'm not the way that I should be.

I'm not ok, I'm hurting "me."

So while I'm making people happy

("Cheer me up, now. Make it snappy!")

I'm tearing myself up inside.

(Something I know how to hide.)

But no one gives a damn to look

past the cover to the book.

Nobody has time to read,

all they know is how to "see."

To see what I can do for them,

and how to use me til the end.

So til the end I'll give my all

with no one there to catch my fall.

© 2012 Ebits

My Review

Would you like to review this Poem?
Login | Register


I have this realization too, that the real "me" is not the person I seem to "know". Good contemplation here, well done.

Posted 12 Years Ago

Share This
Request Read Request
Add to Library My Library
Subscribe Subscribe


1 Review
Added on November 21, 2011
Last Updated on March 6, 2012
Tags: Use, Using, People, Don't, Care, Book, Cover, Hurting, Happy, Pain



Shirley, NY

I write in spurts. Furiously at times and not at all at others. I have no form. Whatever happens, happens. more..