Cecilia Katselnik

The Plight of a Pencil

I stand alone in a cup 

Surrounded yet lonely 

Markers bright and confident

Pens sleek and precise  

Markers as colorful as parrots 

Pens who move elegantly

Then there is me boring gray and dull

Why would anyone choose me

Living lonely as Medusa 

Specks of dust cover me 

I am sharp from lack of use 

A point that's never been pressed to page 

Everyday a hand reaches in 

Everytime my graphite heart fills with hope 

Fingers always pass me 

Then I start to mope

Forever I’ll wait patiently

Firm in my wooden frame 

A pencil waiting for its moment 

Just waiting to be wanted 

If one day I am chosen 

If I am ever finally wanted   

Even one small moment of use 

Would prove I wasn't made in vain 

It would soothe my unspoken pain.