I am a paper yellowed and torn.
You want to discard me and for this I mourn.
My appearance now seems so worthless.
No longer white I serve you no purpose.
Perhaps my expiration is long overdue
You’re a big dummy and you have no clue
Of my worth and all that I can do.
There’s a few things I must admit to you.
Your pen is quite leaky.
The words it writes quite sneaky.
You too are outdated.
You are the one that is jaded.
I maybe yellowed and torn but now I’m stronger.
Get your pen out of my face, I don’t need it any longer!
I ask myself why do people rather read stories of pain and agony instead of love. Why is it that books of tortured love are more popular than books about just loving without the pain? Do we need to feel pain to feel the pleasure of love? Why? I don’t get it. Can someone shed some light? Isn’t to be loved our given right? We were babies and everyone just loved us for existing. Why as we age it has to come with proof and follow-up questions? Why do you love me? Isn’t too soon to say you love me? All I know that this world is becoming more cynical, more cold and more detached. It scares me. Does it scare you?
Hugs from Brooklyn