you look so weather beaten,
chewed and eaten,
scarred from years of life.
you were once a smooth
and pearly eggshell,
one of six painted surfaces.
a horizontal line of grey
from one corner to the other,
the very width of the guilty desktop
that rests against you.
inanimate,
aged by reckless students,
disfiguring your skin
like spotted old age.
a type of unintentional graffiti
to attest to your self disregard,
embracing us like the Giving Tree.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This is the second poem I wrote this morning as I waited in English class.
I sit in the front row and there is this weird wall that juts out right in
front of me and it was all torn up and stained and so for some reason I
wrote this poem for the poor wall.