Whiteout

I was writing a paper

Just like everyday

Nothing unusual

No special way

When my pen slipped

And it made a blot

A big menacing

Ugly black dot

I grabbed the whiteout

To cover it up

When something odd happened

Or at least odd enough

The whiteout stood up

With its little white arms

And looked at me

In all my alarm

“Why do you only

Use me to cover mistakes?

Am I not useful?

Don’t I have what it takes

To be a star

in my own right?

Are you not able

To write out in white?”

I looked at him

With a puzzling glare

He silently fumed

And returned my stare

Now I use whiteout

To compose my work

The bottle is happy

But the pen’s gone berserk