I feel like we were all objects once.
a Trophy that someone bled and sought for;
an Item that someone treasured above all things;
a piece of history to never be forgotten,
until one day, when the metal began to rust,
the silver started to tarnish,
and our “champion” “won” more Trophies,
and we were forced to share…
share our time, our space, our bed, our belongings, our beliefs… and our bodies.
Now, we are more like Ribbons,
pinned on someone who discards them,
into the rest of the stack,
where the refuse accumulates,
and no one mentions it anymore…
…until it’s time to move on, find a new sport, change the locks, bury the past, and fill the holes.
And We all lie there, in tattered formations,
wondering if We were ever good enough,
if We were important,
if We amounted to anything,
if We were an award,
or just a footnote in the book of life?
We don’t talk about it anymore.
We just take our medication and remember the cold shivers,
of hands caressing our bodies,
and mouths that preached and praised,
yet, here We are.