The Rubber Duck

Tue, 10/16/2018 - 23:08 -- talh008

Something small sits on my desk

It has little meaning to me.

The small object sits, unmoving.

It has scratched green paint, and a deformed head,

slightly tilted in one direction.

What was it questioning?

Am I not good enough?

Am I supposed to do something?

Anything?

A shaking shudder, utter disbelief.

No.

No.

I refuse to be nothing.

I am life, I am silence.

I bring music to the world of depression,

Life to that of death.

How could such a toy determine my life?

It won’t.

But I can.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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