There was a time upon my youth,
When I was out to show of great,
But years have passed and now in truth,
I seem to be a paperweight.
My job of pride and worthy self,
I stood for what oneself could be,
Which put me high upon the shelf,
Reflecting light for all to see.
As time would go, I gathered dust,
And neighbored by a wooden plaque,
Then on a desk, I soon was thrust,
And stood upon a paper stack.
So now I occupy my days,
On envelopes and paper stock,
A job for those without the praise,
That could be handled by a rock.
Now looking up, I can relate,
Of you the shiny and the new.
So don’t berate the paperweight,
For there’s a chance you’ll be one too.
I am a paper
you are weight
without you
I’d fly away
and with you
I am crumpled
crushed under
and faded with age
I made a paper airplane
From the paper heart
You made me.
But it took off
And flew away on it's own--
Make it again.
I wove a paper chain
For the paper doll
You made me.
But she broke the chain
And hopped the next breeze out of town--
Make it again.
I found a paper-trail
For the paper-clip
You made me.
But it snapped in two
And the paper-trail lost all control--
Make it again.
For all your paper-cuts
And all my paper-work
Our relationship--
On paper--
Seems pretty...paper-thin.
But then again,
Looking through the shreds
Of our notepaper love
I see, in between the lines,
The truth of my paper rhymes:
You made me.
Make me again.
====================
this black paperweight
holds everything I might need
except a full charge
====================
I see you straight tripping
When you see my cell phone still flipping
Yeah, you think you're the shizzle
Drop it in water it still gonna fizzle
How's this for a paycheck paper weight
Its still gotta a two hour battery life you hate
Can ya playlist still find that song, I shuffled
All I hear is your nursery rhyme muffled
Yeah, you're all hot, one tricked out pony
Bet ya still payin for it, how's that rice-a-roni?
Take ya high maintenance attitude down the street
While I'm still singing to my own beat
Take ya little bench warming money trap
School's over, hope you got the app
The orb fascinated me as a toddler
Holding it, I'd turn it over and over
The mystique of it did not fade or waver
Each time in my hands it was rediscovered
Orange trumpet blooms hand blown with skill
Clear crystal bubbles placed within their throats
The three of them spring from a green glass hill
Surrounded by five tear shaped baubles that float
Their fragile beauty and magic encased
in a cocoon of cool tranquil glass
As I hold it now, it seems to be graced
With all the wonder it held in the past
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