i used to

be a blank slate, you could write whatever you wanted on me and i would not protest, you found me cute that way, adorable even. like i was an extension of you, a ring on your finger, or an ornament yours, thought the world of you when you said a charcoal pencil is priceless, it became my favorite tool because i believed - then later on found out how cheap it actually was, it is the thought that counts you say, i gave you a peck on the cheek then asked for something you felt was priceless no way, that is an outright robbery! it is the thought that counts, i say though you had already fumed off because you can say it to me, but the game is not to be played the other around. it was your moment of truth, you started talking about the weather, the clouds, or what the latest fashion is. then i knew this was never about a fair exchange, it all had to do with a charcoal pencil you enjoyed scrawling: a live doll that spoke back, answered to your whim, was you - in that order. blank sheets colored stains, tear drops turned to yellow creased paper and used to no longer matters.