I sit here on the shelf,
Just trying to be myself
I get picked up, put down
Moved around.
Don't fit in here or there, never really fit in anywhere,
There's no set or theme that I seem able to complete.
I long for the warmth and the touch,
But it never seems to come.
Just The callous disregard of rough hands moving me along.
Along that dusty little shelf, ah the one no one seems to love. It's been left to disarray, much to my dismay, as it and I are now the same, dusty and alone, perhaps a tiny bit forlorn.
But lo! I am not on my own, for this dusty shelf had become my home, and together we have seen and known so so many things.
So me and this dusty shelf sit together in wonderful silence, the perfect team, so at peace and ready to once again be seen.