Books collecting dust,
unloved are the archives,
they're threatening to shut us down.

'Landmark!' yell the advocates,
citing historic moments
I saw as blemishes..

Where would we be,
if not for our history,
these milestones that shaped us,
broken and remoulded.
Stories, that told of origins,
locked deep in the basement.
I was spineless, unbound and tortured.

I called it hatred,
scorn for characters
written in misbehavior,
I have called security

on myself, high on that new book smell,
wouldn't take a look, how
my heart is scarred by jagged edge now
and it won't heal unless I read about
each page of pain
that's left in me.


© DanGlyn