My books are laced with cocaine, I've been told-
the natural eventuality
of any paper product
that exchanges hands so often.
They don't mind.
They tell the stories of
mind-bending drugs,
and mind-blowing sex,
and mind-altering
punk rock villains.
Books, like boys:
I've loved all types, at different times,
and sometimes at the same time.
But I've loved my love-books through the ages:
I am addicted-
shameless in my devotion
to their pages.
They say
reading about love and sex is dirty, but
delving into the dark mind of a killer
is ordinary,
digging into the dark secrets of the universe
is intellectual,
placing yourself at the scene of a crime
or feet of God
is thrilling.
They say a lot of things,
about a lot of things,
but until they find the strength to write,
I ignore.
I skip.
I fight.
I seek the gritty texture of dark novels.
The sharp stab of a short story and the
meditational effects of a
sultry,
sexy poem.
I crave the gritty smack of a
well-timed,
well-said
swear word
or two,
or twenty-two.
I dive into the bitter pain of betrayal,
the suffocation of isolation, and
the panic before the calm.
The pages soften the blow.
I rub against the scribed stubble of a man's face,
the soft satin of sheets,
the slick heat of skin.
The letters warm, and glow.
holding onto the words that taste
like sandpaper or bitter toffee.
They soften my edges
and leave a bit of themselves behind.
It is building a darker me,
a more open me,
a me that understands
everything.
Literature is my favorite song
and I listen to it
in utter silence.
It resonates in me and every fiber of my body
dances.
No one hears it, but me.
No one sees what I see.
I read books that break the laws of genre.
They're rebellious- angry-
and my reading only fuels that fire,
spreads it throughout
my mind and soul.
I kiss, I glare, I love, I hate
and it spreads the fire...
and these books I own,
own me.
I organize them in ways that make sense only to me.
The me
who has tasted their insides.
I have explored,
but they have conquered.
They live inside me, they love inside me
and spread to everyone I meet.
____________________
A very old post that seems to be WordPress-jinxed as this is the fourth time I've posted it for safekeeping. I get a little lazier with the formatting each time, but then nothing beats my favorite format " oh no, here comes the morning", or my second favorite " lies for love ".
What is your favorite genre of reading? Do you carry any books or characters in your heart?
