The Object

I am a object.

But you knew that I was one,

That's why you treated me as such. 

I was moldable, but yet fragile

You could sway me back and forth, 

I don't know whose fault it was 

But could it be the objects? 

Or is it the person who turned me into one? 

I wanted to make you happy

But I forgot how toys got boring after a little while.

Is that why you got bored of me? 

I put up with so much. 

I wanted you to be happy. 

I gave up so much,

While you gave up nothing.

I was an object. 

But I had long brown hair

With two eyes that matched.

I had toes and fingers that turned purple in the winter.

I had soft pink lips and a bright red heart.

It beated, thump, thump, thump.

But objects don't have those parts.

They didn't speak up for others.

They didn't get an A on their last math test

Nor did they study for that same test.

I wasn't an object.

I was a person. 

I was a person,

you were a person. 

Now you're the object.

But in my eyes you will forever be a person.

You were created by me with pen and ink.

I was not. 

You spoke my words as I was scilent.

 It wasn't either of our faults

Because we needed each other to survive.

You would cease to exsist as I would be trapped.

Trapped in a place where I didn't have a voice.

You gave me a voice. 

You made me into a person. 

I am not a object. 

I am me.