Like the other ones, I too, am paper.
You fold me into a bird that can’t fly.
You roll me into a flute without tune.
You twist me into a branch without leaves.
I am paper.
As I get pulled on both sides, I am torn.
Though I keep it together, but even tape can’t do better.
I am bruised by your inking sword.
But with it I get a voice.
Every push and pull leaves an indelible scar.
But with it I feel alive.
To be crumpled and set aside,
Like the other ones, I too, am paper.
Disposable.
Forgettable.
Wrinkled.
Blemished.
I am paper.
I will never be the same.
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