I am a book.
Usually I am closed.
But once in a while someone comes
and opens me up,
reading me.
They search through me
finding my secrets and my failures.

Once they are done,
they throw me on the old dusty shelf.
There is where i wait for their return.
Only to realize that they are never coming back

You have opened me up.
Taken me off the deteriorating shelf
and into your warm, loving palms.
Flipping through my pages ever so gently.
You take your time and read all there is to know about me.

When you knew I was ready,
you tore out all the bad stuff.
Now, you’re writing me new pages.
Ones I’m not ashamed to show.

At the end of it all,
when you’re finally finished,
you’ll set me upon a shelf.
A shelf that’s different from the one i’m laying on now.
And I’ll be with you,
open and unashamed.