Often I feel like I’m

Worthless,

nothing more than something to

take up space, to

be inconvenient, to

waste someone’s time looked for when I’m needed.

I need to be

looked for in the bottom of a

purse

under a bed

inside pockets

as a poor man’s last resort.

My only

Worth-

while attribute is the satisfying little plop when I

hit the water of a mall fountain,

or

what I like to call,

my glorified graveyard,

only taken back when the

youthful grave robbers take me out of my

hole.

I’m passed around hastily

found easily

given away like I’m

Worthless.

At least

close to it.

I rust and I

mold and I

sit at the bottom of a jar

waiting to become useful to one day.

I get dropped and only I have the

fortune of being looked at and wondered,

“Is it worth it to go back and get it?”

(Spoiler alert: Probably not).

Even a man

begging for money

would scoff at me.

Whatever happened to “beggars can't be choosers”?

I guess rejects don’t apply.

So much for being lucky, huh?