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If Only
January 19, 2012
An eraser
On top of a pencil;
Only there to fix.
Everything I’m used I get
smaller.
Everyday
I’m used.
I can’t write,
I only take.
Take away the
Words, lines, images.
Why must I fix?
I’m not pleasant to hear
when rubbed the wrong way.
I feel lonely, stranded.
A pencil has friends who,
sparpen him to a point.
I lose myself;
Until I have nothing left.
If only I could
be on the other side; I could
write, make, do.
I could, would be,
A pencil.
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