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.

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