Inside me are jumbled up words that make too much noise, talking too much, I try to ignore them but they just keep rambling on. When I see others slam us books down I try not to wince. But the people take us and all the sudden you’re starting a new chapter in your life.
They look in us for answer, I listen to them, hearing every sketch of the pencil, I yell in pain when they rip me off. I’m forever changed; I can’t be fixed once they do. Some cover me in soft grocery bags then decorate my life with a sharpie just like some people have awesome names. Some sell me for money at a garage sale like I’m a piece of useless junk.
When they are done with me I’m often put back on a shelf, to be forgotten, just like a broom in a dusty old corner. When boys and girls walk by my shelf I scream out “Pick me! Pick me!” But most of the time they won’t… They will walk past me like they didn’t even hear me, because they probably didn’t hear me.