The Book

 

I turned the page.
I read the words that pierced so deep
As if the author knew my life
And wrote to expose me in my weakness
The words on the pages said my name
They called me out from hiding
They made me agonize
Over what I knew
About myself
The scarlet letter I wore under the layers
It brought a mirror to the places I dared not look.
It turned me inside out
So that the seams where showing.
It knew me.
In the most terrifying way, it knew me.
I could not put it back
Letting it collect more dust.
These were my answers
This was my freedom.

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