A Thing

I am an old thing, an antique,
I was wrapped up in plastic
and defiled by all the punching holes and the moving. 

In secret I was unwrapped
and wrapped back again, and again and again and again
till the fresh plastic was old and dirty
and my grains were weathered and rusty
with rough and old hands,
that loved more and cared less.
With greed and jealousy I changed,
the plastic stretched and was never the same,
but the demand was high and the expectations were low,
and finally the plastic fell off till I was bare for the world to scoff.
Repaired and retouched, I was new again
yet I had seen what I shouldn't have,
yet I had felt so much more than I should have felt,
but now I am new and the old stories sealed underneath .

So now the fresh paint won't come off so easily,

now I am hard as a rock and strong as a storm, 

I am alone but I don't need my old friend,

the plastic has gone somewhere to be burnt, 

now I am here for the world to see,

after all I am just an old wise thing.