I felt as although, I was a pair of glasses and my parents were the destroyers.

They threw it straight down into the wooden floor. They broke into some little pieces. And then they stepped on them and crushed it into impossible shreds. Now those little tiny specs of glass hurt when you touch them. So everyone leaves it alone and walks over it. They're useless and annoying so you throw them away. Then they sit in the garbage. They sit in the darkness, waiting...
One year later someone finds one piece. The someone is interested in it. They adore the crooked and messed up-ness of it. Its not too long that that someone doesn't like it anymore. They figure out its just a piece of trash too. That theirs other neater prettier pieces, so the someone abandoned its.
So now. I will never be able to see. I won't see the real-ness of everything.
I'm done for. Just a piece of mess that sits in the garbage.