.
*If I were a poem
I’d ask you to fold me up
and put me in your pocket,
then at the end of the week,
toss me in the wash
with the rest of the clothes
And when you find me later,
smudged and smeared,
ripped and tattered into
little unrecognizable pieces,
don’t worry about it,
I was already like that
I have been notified that this poem was plagiarized and posted on Poetfreak by someone using the name Blurry Face. I can assure you, this is my poem.