Thrift Store Books
The golden printed letters on our once compact bodies have faded,
The black text within accompanied with fluorescent pink highlights and brackets in blue ink.
But our bending binds are not like the younger ones,
We can crack back to the exact pages that were read and folded over many times.
The dust on the shelves is almost as thick as our pages,
The pages that are almost as yellow as the dated flowered wallpaper.
The hardcovers stay hard but the paperbacks are the tender ones that cry the most,
At night we tell sob stories remembering times spent under sheets, in hammocks, on the beach.
Still, we keep faith that we’ll make it out, today will be the day,
We may be mistakenly placed near the Harry Potter books, and maybe then, find a better home.
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