This is a poem I just wrote, and it would be nice if I could get some opinions on it:) I Am a Book.

I am a book.

Not one that is sat on a shelf for everyone to see, pass by, and wonder what is beneath the cover.

I am a book that is tossed under someone’s bed, shoved behind other books, and locked inside attics for years to come.

My pages are torn, stained, and faded.
My spine is cracked, worn out, and dull,

But do not judge me by my scrambled letters or folded edges,

For my scrambled letters tell a story.

A story of a sad soul trying to make its way through life.

Every fold in an obstacle that hold determination and sophistication.

I may be broken and I may be subdued,

But my story still reigns with adventure and hope.

It is yet to end.

I am a broken story written by a broken author.

An author that tore my pages, folded my edges, and tossed me around.

My story is my authors life, and my appearance is their own.

Lonely, broken, and unwanted.

I am a book, indeed.

- Isabella Ali