People are Books


I look at the libraries of people,
each one inviting, wanting to be found.
I, am avid reader, took to the invitation.
You see that girl, the one with the purple hair? She has PTSD. Bet you couldn’t guess that from the way she laughs at herself.
You see that boy, over there with the black hair and the baseball glove? He’s tried to kill himself six times in the last six months. And you looked straight past him to glance at his buddy, the guy in the leather jacket.

They say don't judge a book by its cover
But the cover is what makes you love
It the cover draws your attention it get
You think about the girl you lust over once
You got past the cover you ran and hid for cover
Misjudged that book by it's cover

We all know how stupid the saying is
No one looks at the front of a book
Don't tell me you don't take it off the shelf
And flip through it a bit
Just to see what it's about
Or how good the author is
That's how we choose our friends, after all
Examining every detail
Do they like the same bands? The same authors?
Are they good people or bad?
We can never escape the judging eyes
Of potential friends
Or potential enemies
Or even just passerby
Who stare at your colored hair and judge
Or at your hand, linked with someone of the same gender
Or the scars running up and down your exposed legs
Or your cracked glasses or your torn shirt, or that tiny smudge of dirt on your cheek you've forgotten is even there
Everyone judges
Even if we don't notice ourselves doing it

They judged this book by my cover.
Just a cute little girl who likes to wear
kitty socks.
How little they truly know me.

They judged this book by my cover
Just a sad, angry mess of a person
Smile more
Cry less
You'd look so much nicer if you weren't so depressed all the time
As though my life can be dictated
By the words of a person who only looks at my outside

There is more to me than kitty socks
and cuteness.
There is more to you than grey eyes and
fake smiles.
There is more to people than the magazines
we want them to be.
There has to be.

There has to be,
because if there isn't
then what are we supposed to do?
Trapped in a world
where you can't be successful
Not without covering your face in goop
or working out until your stomach is hard
and your face is beaded with sweat

  • Authors: Shadowbox15, Podno, pots-and-pans
  • Visible: All lines
  • Finished: January 16th, 2018 13:13
  • Limit: 7 stanzas
  • Invited: Public (any user can participate)
  • Category: Sad
  • Views: 86
  • User favorite of this poem: pots-and-pans.
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