I'm damaged goods.
I was shipped to your front door,
Stripped of self esteem or
Any sort of allure.
I was marked "Preowned."
"Used."
I'd say "Acceptable," but that hasn't proven to be the case.
Do you mind if your item has marks on it?
The previous owner spit on it,
Rubbed out burning desires on it's outer-surface,
Like cigarette butts.
She,
The previous owner, that is,
Owned your item for two years, and,
Because it no longer yielded the results she desired, she
Has decided to sell it. Or,
Um,
Has left it up to the item to sell itself,
As if it knows how.
Yeah, a part of it's broken inside,
If you shake it, you can hear it rattle around.
The price?
However much you want to put in.
Your heart, maybe,
Maybe time. Depends on you.
Honestly.
Let the bidding begin.
Just remember,
It,
The item,
Titled "I,"
Is preowned.
Don't expect much.
Powerful poem, @caleblailmusik! Made me feel emotional!!!! I didn't expect that! But that's how the good poetry works, I guess... Excellent and touching words. I see you've tagged love and hate... very interesting. I'm looking forward to more of your poetry! :) Klaudia
Thank you so much! I look forward to you, um, enjoying it!
hah! ;)
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