This poem is about a person who has opened up totally, made himself subject to criticism, hoping that there is one person who will accept him for all that he is. It does this not directly, but within a metaphor in which this person is a story.
It was inspired by the fact that people are not easy to understand, We all go through different things that make us the people we are today. Written in hope that it will inspire people to actually get to know people, and stop judging them by their past or by their circumstance.
The book is open,
All the words are spilled;
Left to the mercy of the world,
To be interpreted, and have the good intentions killed;
Still there is hope, as at least one there must be,
One empty vessel just waiting to be filled.
This perfect vessel,
Perfectly empty, filled with void;
Its new occupants, the words,
Hope has the book feeling overjoyed;
But walls have eyes, and they sometimes speak,
Corrupted, the vessel’s innocence is destroyed.
But all books tell a story;
And what’s a good plot without conflict?
And everyone loves a good climax,
No! naughty naughty, that’s not a play on the clit;
Climax makes the resolution fulfilling,
A better ending could not even be handpicked.
At this point,
The vessel becomes a part of the story;
Trapped by the intensity of its emotional attachment,
The author hopes his story won’t be like excess water in curry;
But instead create a perfect reaction like chemicals would be,