Society crumples me up,
tosses me into the gutter,
tearing through my fragile lines
of imperfection.
Bruised.
Bent.
Bleeding easily.
I feel every movement of your hand
when you drag words across my skin
words heavy with sorrow,
sharp with anger,
inked with pain.
Every sentence you carve into me
leaves a scar.
I feel the weight of your frustration,
the bitterness of your voice
pressed into my surface.
But tell me…
why must you hurt me?
Am I not worthy
of gentle hands?
Can I not be treated
like something living,
something breathing?
Can I not exist
in this modern world with dignity
just because
I am made
of paper?
And though you wrinkle me,
though you tear me apart
and cast me aside
remember this:
Even paper
has the power
to carry truth,
to hold stories,
to preserve voices
long after the ones who wrote them
have faded away.
So be careful
how you treat me
because even something fragile
can hold
something powerful. ✍🏽
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 5:58 PM UTC
Society crumples me up,
tosses me into the gutter,
tearing through my fragile lines
of imperfection.
Bruised.
Bent.
Bleeding easily.
I feel every movement of your hand
when you drag words across my skin
words heavy with sorrow,
sharp with anger,
inked with pain.
Every sentence you carve into me
leaves a scar.
I feel the weight of your frustration,
the bitterness of your voice
pressed into my surface.
But tell me…
why must you hurt me?
Am I not worthy
of gentle hands?
Can I not be treated
like something living,
something breathing?
Can I not exist
in this modern world with dignity
just because
I am made
of paper?
And though you wrinkle me,
though you tear me apart
and cast me aside
remember this:
Even paper
has the power
to carry truth,
to hold stories,
to preserve voices
long after the ones who wrote them
have faded away.
So be careful
how you treat me
because even something fragile
can hold
something powerful. ✍🏽
it's sad how we live in this morden society, pleasing other specimen, for what?? why?? all in the name of fittung in...?
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