Sharp Opinions

A tall and white cylindrical

container.

It contains the lost

skin of a pencil.

That lost skin belongs to you,

my childhood friend.

Your sweet and humorous cover

has been shaved off by the metal

sheets of a pencil sharpener.

What remains is a pencil bare and sensitive to anyone else’s hands.

If someone else tries to erase

what you write, you harden

and don't lose a fragment of your rubber.

When others frown upon your lack of

use when it comes to communicating,

I try to comfort you and use your lead from time to time.

But, each time I try to write a contradictory

statement or spelling error,

you keep b r e a k i n g y o u r t i p

and won't sharpen,

even if I shave you down to the eraser.

I don't want to lose you today,

but it's tempting to throw you away.