Is it okay to put poetry in here? Too cliche? Hm.

We Are Books

We are all among the yellowing dusty stacks.
Our minds, checked out.
Yet only when our shelves become worn,
will our flaccid pages turn evermore spent,
spines unbound,
and words full of meaning.
We cannot hope but to be imperfect.

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Everyone is working towards perfections in some form or another, but I feel that people need to embrace imperfections more so than anything else, because those are the things that truly shape us. That is why I chose books to explain my meaning, because they are pristine when they come out, but no one knows what is inside that pristine encasement. Only once you read it, fraying the pages and worrying the edges, will you come to understand it. The more imperfect a book becomes, the better, more understood it becomes. This, I believe, is the same with people, although we fail to realize it. We all need to arise from our dusty stacks and put ourselves on a shelf that will surly draw attention from avid readers everywhere.

How many times have you been read?
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Thoughts?