Dear Random Strangers,
Your sideways glances and whispered remarks have been noticed.
What you think has no effect actually means the world.
I would like to ask you...
To please stop judging me because of the marks on my wrist,
Allow me the chance to tell you my story,
Before you put the damaged book in the trash.
I know my corners are dog-ear,
Yes some pages are ripped,
And my cover is torn and scratched.
But looks can be deceiving.
Random Stranger, I know we haven't met
But every time one person disregards me,
It becomes more easy to believe I am trash,
And it makes me want to throw myself away...
— The End —