Like an Open Book

Every day a new book a way to escape. 

A person to be since I'm just a blank slate.

I can take on a role, visit that mind, inhabit that skin, make it all mine. 

Visit the places I'll never see, and be the person I might have been meant to be.

I pick up a new one and try on a new me, maybe this is how I could fit in, how I could be me. 

This story ends badly, as mine might right now, I'll grab a new book, maybe my luck will change somehow. 

I keep reading and changing until I find myself in the pages. 

There must be a me out there other people find efficacious.

K. B. Silver

I have suffered from PTSD-induced memory loss most of my life. This poem deals with the feelings of loss of self that stem from every memory loss episode and the difficulty in creating new personality aspects when they keep getting lost.

I also spent countless hours reading books to escape the life I was stuck living. In many cases I know I have read a book, I can recall its plot and characters, but I can't actually remember reading it. I devoured thousands of stories, lived thousands of lives, and escaped thousands of terrible troubles. Reading is a gift I feel blessed to have received.