Transcription

I am a papermate pencil,

Numero dos.

Dressed in a design of

Handcrafted wooden,

or I am nonetheless

Golden glimmering plastic,

Mortal graphite,

And a spongy pink eraser

To top it all.

I am controlled by the people,

For the people.

Their wish is my command,

Even when I float from hand to hand.

I give life to hidden minds.

Or only one long enough

To fill pages with the

Essence of my slate blood.

Sometimes I am revived,

My point refined, renewed,

And I am surviving again.

Tediously resting in a warm hand,

Or perhaps it was cold.

I can’t remember much,

When my memory gets erased

By mistakes

And critical outrage.

So don’t use me,

Just to lose me.

Instead,

Let me be your yellow friend.

From your brain,

Down your hand.

I will comprehend.