dpbowman

The posings of a poet.

Archive for the tag “Self”

Reblog: You Are Not Your Books

some old books i found in the guest room. =]

(Photo: Wikipedia)

You are not the books on your shelf.

You are not the books you have read.

You are not the books you haven’t read.

You are not what books people think you have read.

You are not the books you are supposed to have read.

You are not the books you always meant to read.

You are not the books you hate.

You are not the books you dismiss.

You are not the books you like.

You are not the books you love.

You are not the book you are reading now.

You are not the book you just read.

You are not the book you are reading next.

You are not the books you remember.

You are not the books you have forgotten.

You are not the books your parents read to you.

You are not the books you read to your children.

You are not the books you’ve given.

You are not the books you have received.

You are not the books you have written.

You are not the books you will write.

You are not the books you will never write.

You are not the books you reread every year.

You are not the books you’ve abandoned.

You are not the books you studied.

You are not the books you admire.

You are not the books that made you think.

You are not the books that made you change.

You are not the books that made you leave.

You are not the books that made you pick up the phone.

You are not the books that made you laugh.

You are not the books that made you cry.

All of these books are you.

Jeff @ Book Riot

Thoughts? Leave a comment so we can talk amongst ourselves.

Self Improvement

Would you at a moments notice break
yourself upon the altar of change
and dare to believe ahead of time for goodness sake
that you would grow to encompass much beyond your range
Would you walk out on all that you had built
and laugh at those that called you traitor
for knowing is the thing that keeps blood from being spilt
when the only allegiance that matters is you, but greater
Would you toss out what you had bought as true
and reconsider that others could not have been so wrong
and lift up to the skies nothing borrowed nor indeed blue
for happiness would abound ere too long
Would you dare to call it inspiration that makes you leap
from the known out far into the abyss
could you find yourself and dare to keep
the first longings of that kiss

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