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Spoon
She sleeps,
tucked away in her place.
Conformed to look the same.
Scrubbed ‘till she’s clean,
shiny at first glance.
So shiny, you see yourself in her
yet she is noticeably dull.
She has no individuality,
but she desperately
wants to be chosen.
Unable to be alone,
she needs others to be useful.
Unappreciated,
we would be clueless without her.
She doesn’t see
how important she is.
Like the others
she is the same.
She sits, waiting to be chosen
not knowing that individuality
is in the next drawer.
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