things we

Ode to a Cheap Poetry Book

Artwork by Ellis van der Does

Thou shall not grow rich
From dissecting your soul
In small splinters
And selling it for pennies
To the hungry and the silly.
You will hide in blank pages
In spaces between rows
In the plain sight of human patience
You will grow quiet
Unnoticed
Your hands will smell like the ink
That has gone bad in your closet
The night you hid your marks
Like a vicious murderer.
There’s nothing worse than being raw
Uncooked
Putrid with feelings
And shamelessly parading them
On pieces of paper
On screens
On your fingers
Saying: come read me
I’ve split myself in two
And you don’t care enough
To glimpse.

—

Poem by Laura Tita

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