My adolescent years were filled, like pages of a book,
With words and paragraphs that
Created a world unknown outside my head.
I held on tightly, for a few years,
Learning and exploring worlds unfamiliar
And unknown to my young, developing brain.
Books narrated a childhood full of wonder,
And inspired me to be the writer
I hope to one day become.
But I lost my way, hidden from the world I'd once created,
Shaded from the new and evolving mysteries of teenage years
I walked through high school,
Looking down at linoleum floors and
Shielding my eyes from the fluorescent lights above.
Then one day, my eyes thirsted for more -
My imagination dry, waiting to be quenched.
It was Frankenstein which gave back my elixir of life.
The spine is now bent, torn, with white lines cracking
Along the once brand new cover. The pages turned down,
Bent back, and highlighter, pencil and pen tattoo
Once black and white pages of a novel unexplored.
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