One honest truth:
We do judge books by covers.
We pick what sticks out;
The pretty ones that we can talk about
With our friends.
Normal is no longer wanted.
What we long for is something that is exquisite
Because presentation is everything,
Isn’t it?
And then we cut and paste this idea onto humans
Because no matter how wrong it may be
We bet that the rest of what lies inside
Will match the outside.
Unfortunately, this ideal is short of anything real.
There is nothing deep about a pretty face
Without a soul underneath.
After all, what would be the point
Of a beautiful cover that holds no pages together?