Lost


I am a needle in a 3 mile long hay stack, no one even tries to find me.
I don’t want to rant and be a story teller, but the people who look for me are like Stevie Wonder’s and
Helen Keller’s. I’m lost.

I’m gray and silver, such dull colors. I don’t bring excitement to anything.
I finally stepped out of my comfort zone, now I can’t find home. I don’t even know what home is.
I’ve never been welcomed to anything. No one wants to know where I am, who I am, or what I am.
I’m lost.

Even if I am found, I’m sharp and pointy. That’s hurts the human fingers, so they’ll probably just throw me back.
The finger begins to cry after touching me, but at least I’ll be acknowledged then.
Even then I am found missing, technically, when I wasn’t even missing.
I’m lost.

I walk this hay stack day to day, listening to the wind rumble
And the crookedness of society. Wondering, will I ever make it out of this shell?
I begin to lose hope often, I can’t help but to dream
And repeat the same thing to myself by saying…
I’m lost.

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