I was born as an open book-
out in the open
and honest (though I lie to myself)
A fancy cover
concealing tobacco stained
pages ravaged by
time.
I know you.
Beneath the glasses
and sweater, which failed
miserably to make you look
intelligent, you are still the same.
I read you like a book that day.
Never reading far enough
ahead to see that
you planned to
write me out of
the story.
Remember, I know you.
When it comes to lying,
you are a miserable
failure. You twisted
my words and
made them
fiction.
I've closed the book
on you for good.
You are no longer
part of the story.
You are just a tragic ending.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Your writing is very coherent and stays on target. I like the natural easiness and flow that comes with time and practice and says, no novice writer here. (smile)