Monologue of an Inanimate Object

I am old, complete of past memories.

I have strong personality, thoughts and opinions.

Ink inscribed while in pain or reverie.

To understand me, I am always in the same position.

Parts of me are stained yellow with coffee.

Others are white and creased with tears.

I am unique, there is no copy.

I know every secret and fear.

I could be used as an armour, I have no control.

My outside is rough and worn out,

I am so divided, but that makes me whole.

I have many words, but none can I shout:

“Please just let me out!”

My spine is almost giving up.

I am so tired of opening up.

Let me rest where I lie,

And hear songs of lullaby.

Cradle me one last time,

Read your own engraved words,

And understand your past prime.

I have the feelings of the things you’ve heard,

And I will carry them with pride.

Lie me down with my sisters and brothers,

To which carry more of your past.

In my plant made skin, you’ve kept many wonders,

Now, do what I’ve asked!

I am only one in a collection,

And I know I won’t be last.

I have many sections,

Divided by the days that have passed.

I regret the times I could not guide you,

The times you needed a hug and encouragement,

The times that you were askew and knew!

Just when it was too great of a lament…

I wanted to have hands, to hold yours while you slept.

While my Pillow friend held your head in your bed,

When all I could do was watch, while you wept.