I am but a decoration.
I hang on the wall,
ignored for the most part.
When anyone does notice,
they smile. I am pretty.
But I count for nothing.
I would like to be a book,
that people would open and read,
exchange thoughts with.
I would like to be a spoon,
to be dipped into food and brought back
full of nourishment and sweet tastes.
But I am a mere decoration,
with nothing important to do.
Occasionally someone dusts me off.
No-one ever applies polish.
No-one ever takes a photo.
They moved the mirror opposite;
now I am even forgetting what I look like.
I cannot see myself. I cannot hear myself.
Perhaps I will cease to exist.
This is a fictional character, NOT autobiographical! Written in response to a prompt in a writing group, which consisted of the first two lines of this poem. They are from a piece of writing by Kyminy Cricket.
Linked to Poets United's Poetry Pantry #376