Because I Am Furniture

You don't see me as I am,

but as what you use me for.

I am there. There through fighting. Through the screaming.

The hitting.

Because I am furniture.

I sit and watch.

And watch.

And do nothing.

Eventually, the pressure on me builds.

My wooden frame begins to crack. 

I don't work work the same.

You no longer see me.

You see me as junk.

Now that I'm broken,

you're much rougher on me.

You care less for me.

Finally, 

I know I'm worthless.

You see the same.

I'm thrown away.

Because I am furniture.