I was given to her
On her eighteenth birthday.
A note sat on top of me
Indicating that she should read me daily.
Daggers shot from her eyes.
They jabbed me in my heart.
She crushed the life out of the note
With her giant hand Before tossing it to the floor.
My body tightened
As she hauled me up the attic.
My spine hurt
As her angry fingers gripped me tightly.
The attic was packed with boxes of old junk.
How dare she take me there.
I almost throw up
When she opened one of the boxes.
A pile of socks
Slapped a smelly odor up my nostrils.
Before I could catch my breath
To beg her not to put me in there,
She released her grip.
Down I went
Into the arms of the stinky socks.
A daunting smirk appeared on her face.
She flipped the box closed.
I bowed my head and prayed for her.
She was young and naive.
She didn’t know how important I am.
One day, she would come back for me.
She will know
That my content can change her heart
And enlighten her about Jesus,
The only perfect man
That has walked the earth.
She would soon acknowledge
That only He can save her soul.
She’ll realize that I’m the only book
That will truly transform her
After all, I’m The Holy Bible.