There is a book, that looks pretty and neat,
It has beauty in which I cannot repeat.
Filled with happy stories and such,
but mine, not so much.
My stories are harsh and rude,
But this book's are all really cute.
I can see why you prefer the pretty one,
My spine is coming undone.
You can understand the envy,
That book isn't used like me.
My words are trapped to these pages,
keeping me stuck for ages and ages.
I get thrown and tossed,
My dignity feeling robbed.
My pages are yellow and folded,
That one's are gorgeous and golden.
One day, someone will again read my story,
and that book, will get ugly and boring.
-Ashleigh Mull 1/26/2017
