I Am a Piece of Notebook Paper

I’m fresh Pristine. Eager to Please Fresh out of the grocery store shelves. My beauty is sound. My lines are crisp. The prettiest of blues. I am symmetrical and smart. I feel pride as a hand picks up a pen. Scribble scribble scribble scribble It tickles, but I do not mind. The face looks satisfied. SCRATCH. SCRATCH. SCRATCH! Ouch! That hurts. I get ripped from my spine. Hand crumples me into a wrinkled ball. I am now being thrown onto the floor. One of my prissy cousins arrives next. She is also a crumpled ball. What is going on? I ask Uncle Wilbur As he comes flying down from the desk. Things are not going well for this poet, he says. No problem. We can be recycled again. My brother Jed sails past us, in airplane form, making us laugh.