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.