I Matter Too

I am stabbed repeatedly,

Ink to my unblemished skin.

I am used at the whims of others,

Their thoughts filling my body,

Changing me, scarring me forever.

Sometimes they try to erase what they've done,

But they cannot undo their mistakes

Because their marks still mar me.

I remember their scratches even after they fade.

And when they rip my pages from my body
I scream, but they do not hear me.

Or maybe they do not care.

They close my covers and shut me up.

And when they are done, 

They throw me in the trash.

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For Day 17 of NaPoWriMo, we were encouraged to write about a scene from an unusual point of view. I originally intended my poem to be from the point of view of a notebook or journal, but it turned into something more dark and serious.