Ever dissected a pencil?

 

Searched the very insides that make it what it is

 

Well I have

 

A pencil has a heart, like yours and mine

 

The pencils heart is full

 

It pounds faster when you hold it

 

And when you speak softly to it

 

A pencil has a brain, like mine and yours

 

It thinks, it cries, it gets angry, it gets dull

 

A pencil speaks for you

 

It is the translator between you and the paper

 

And at times, a peace keeper

 

And at other times, a love maker.

 

A pencil's wooden skin bears its scars

 

When it was neglected or reconnected with careful precision

 

Now do you want to dissect a pencil?