There was a time when I was…
Worthy of more than just your scorn.
Valued more than your grandmother’s faded linens.
Someone who had something to say.
Now I sit and wonder what it all means.
Why the earth seems to revolve without care for me?
What does a man measure his worth by?
A faded photograph of you, collecting dust, shoved in a drawer
Under a silk bandana.
Yours, I think.
I mattered to you, didn’t I?
I was, once.