Just Like a Pencil

Light and fragile,
Tall, yet brittle,
Happy on the outside,
Yet gray on the inside.

You pick it up and use it,
So often we need it,
But often forgotten.
Hidden somewhere within a drawer,

Unwittingly thrown away.
Pencils aren't important,
They can snap, and disappear—
In a blink of an eye.

Forgotten in its usefulness,
Unneeded, unseen,
The significance is lost,
Until you need it.

Frantically you search for one,
Yet it seems to have disappeared—
Pencils don't have legs right?
Where could it be?

Maybe it's gone.
Maybe it's disappeared.
Maybe it's sick and tired of being used.
Maybe it's gone for good.


A/N: This was written during one of the lowest point in my life (thus far anyways), and I hope this isn't too depressing to read. Used an extended metaphor for this poem.