Think of me as a pen.
A pen that has lost its lid, as I have lost my mind.
A pen that no serves no purpose as I serve nothing in life.
A pen that is no longer needed or even chewed .
A pen that isn't important.
A pen that just can't be used.
Why am I a pen?
Well because, it just hit me.
Not a pen the thing that technically I felt a week back.
The realisation and the reality, that I'm not that important.
I'm not that important to people as I think I am.
It was so stupid of me to ever believe that I would cross anyone's mind during the day.
That it could place a smile upon their face.
I must apologise.
To myself of course...
For thinking that:
'If I'm not important to myself I must be important to someone else'.
Why did I ever think that ?
Why was that ever a thing?
The hairs on my arms stood up and my ears were beginning to ring.
My face emotionless as warm salty tears slowly ran down my cheeks.
My body scrunched up as I sat in silence, visioning their fun constantly telling myself that I was never number one.
Why was I crying?
Why does it hurt ?
In the back of my mind I always knew this.
My heart was beginning to burn.
I'm a fool for thinking this.
A fool for doubting that it was true.
Just because people are important to me doesn't mean I'm important to them.
This is something I'm learning to come to terms with.
It's like removing the ink from a pen.
It is empty and most times transparent.
So therefore I am a pen.
A broken, useless pen.
Waiting for the day my ink is refilled again.
