Pages flip open
A path is drawn in my head.
The words in ink are the pointers
And the empty rows are roads to take
My hands have become my feet
Taking me to the next page. Path.
Clouds are formed from the snowy white of the pages
And mountains arise from each punctuation.
I can be anything I wish to be
With a book in my hands.
I can be a pirate
Stealing anything within my reach,
Or an explorer
Searching for new lands to conquer.
I can be a damsel in distress
Waiting for my prince charming.
I can be a ruler
Presiding over everything my throne covers.
I can be a predator
Awaiting my next meal in the shadows of darkness.
I can be a monster,
You know, the one that hides under the beds of four-year-olds.
I can be a saint
Seeping every last vestige of darkness in every soul.
So be patient with me if I don’t answer your calls.
My heart is in a far away land
And my butler is about to butter my bread.
My butt is pressing into soft feathery pillows
My legs are being massaged by an angel with silky palms.
I am in my own Paradise. My own Heaven.
Do not be angry if I don’t reply you again too
I prefer to live in my books.
That way, I won’t have to face the horny beast that is life.