As an 'it' you shouldn't be able to feel anything
As an 'it' you shouldn't be able to breathe
As an 'it' you aren't even alive.
You're dehumanized.
So, in essence, you become
Inanimate
A piece in the background.
Something no one else notices.
Until 'it' wilts
Or dies
And even then, most toss 'it' out when 'it's'
No longer beautiful
'It's' why I keep every dead flower and
Dream of death like 'it's' a savior
'It's' why I cry myself to sleep at night and
Talk in my sleep until 'it' keeps my boyfriend
Awake for hours on end.
I scream against my will, begging someone to hear me
Though, I know they never will.
Because I'm an 'it'
I'm the one that no one sees
I'm the flower that never buds in fear of wilting
And being thrown away
I'm the chair that groans as you sit down, but
Doesn't complain because I'm an 'it'.
I'm the pencil, slowly worn down until 'it's'
Tossed aside for the lack of lead
I'm the can that's crushed against the teenager's foot
Just as a show of power
I AM NOT AN IT.
If I was,
I would be dead.
YOU ARE READING
Invisible Papercuts
PoetryA small book of poems. Some can be very triggering. I write mostly free verse. If you don't like it, don't read it. All of these are fueled from conversations I've had or things I've felt. In Honor of my Uncle.
