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Pencil
Once there
was a pencil.
It was new
and sharp
and she liked
writing
her
thoughts in the
form of poetry.
She
showed no one
Gave herself credit
And
applause
Craving attention she didn’t want.
There was that
same pencil
Again.
Teeth marks in the
soft and grainy
wood.
Loved.
Cherished. Adored.
and she liked
writing
her
thoughts in the
form of a paragraph
She showed
one
person.
Gave herself credit.
wanting the attention
she
didn’t want.
There was a pencil
lain forgotten at
the
bottom of
her
bag.
Abandoned and
Dirty.
She liked being
by
Herself.
She liked thinking her
thoughts
Instead of using
a
measley pencil.
She told
no one
else.
Didn’t want credit
No longer craving the
attention
She didn’t
want.
One day she
retrieved the pencil
though
she
lain forgotten.
Dirty
and useless
and cold.
She craved a
Jacket.
As if it would
save her
body and
her mind.
from dying
all
alone.
She never liked
living
She told no
one else.
Didn’t deserve
credit
or
the attention
she
didn’t want.
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This piece is about Mental Health struggles. I don't know if you know, but the speaker is dead in the last two stanzas. Or if that helps. Or makes sense. Anyway. I wrote this on another restless night (whoo!) and it has had no revision.