I am sick of you,
Putting me up high onto a shelf,
And leaving me there,
Until you decide it's time to use me again,
Until you decide you need me again.
I am like a porcelain doll,
That no little girl would want.
A decoration that will just collect dust over time.
I am a tool.
Something you will use,
When nothing seems to work in your favor,
Something to distract you from your problems,
Something that makes you feel powerful,
In control.
I am insignificant until you want me again.
I have no purpose in life,
Until I am taken off of that shelf,
And played with,
Toyed with.
I am nothing but another one,
Of your childhood toys,
You eventually got bored with.
And I'm sick of it.
I'm sick of feeling this way.