touched

i don't want to be a piece of art 

because behind it all

nobody touches artwork
 
instead
they look from afar and move on 
but i am more than just a story 
 
i have a beating heart 
that beats so loud 
that it forces everyone 
to crowd around 
 
but they stop 
only to leave again 
 
because i am nothing but a piece of art 
so fragile and stripped from the walls of reality in a broken society as they view me as 
less than that rusted penny that can be found on the ground 
 
inside me i believe there is space 
for someone who will stand just a minute or two longer 
taking a true glance at the real me 
for i am just piece of art 
waiting to be touched
This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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