In the dark, isolated. I would have thought a pencil is a need, all I want to be is freed.
I want to be used, but it seems she has many at home and I’m no longer a use.
Everyone around me thinks I’m bipolar and rude.
Sharp one second, dull the next.
All I want to be is used to help the power of knowledge be recorded.
I felt I was above the rest.
I was the only one who could make mistakes disappear; it seems I’m the only one who disappeared.
Now it seems like I’m the same as the rest; abandoned and isolated.
Except all the others don’t like me.
I truly am alone and clueless.
I want a hand wrapped around me, making wonders and theories together.
Except I never get credit for anything. I am just an assistant.
I never get recognized for my wonders I help create.
I want to be in the spotlight; in a hand again.
Even if it means me just being an unrecognized assist.