Just a Book

Was it my choice,

As a boy, to be this way;

To wake up every day,

Speak my mind:

To say what I say?

Am I just an actor

In another’s play?

Am I just a character

In someone’s book,

Tucked on a dusty shelf

Where no one may ever look?

Or maybe I’ll be like water,

Crucial to your health;

Or maybe like money,

Crucial to your wealth;

But one way or another,

I’ll be stuck like a paper weight

On the top of an old book shelf.

And maybe there,

After everyone has lost me,

I’ll find myself.

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