like a child who has grown
too old for colouring, i am
a half empty box of crayons
lost in the suffocating folds
of the sofa

i am a carton of stuffed toys
who've had their life
hugged out of them, i am
the dog ears on a yellow
paperback

and i am the friend you forgot
about when the popular kids
came your way and made me
watch you leave

i am a passing storm, i am
a circumstance that people
get all too familiar with
and eventually forget
is there

and i am not ashamed
to be these things. i am
a collection of long lost
memories, all of which
simply just happen to end the same way.

i am not beyond repair
but the knife edges are dull
and the needles hurt more than
they used to

not abused, just used.