Edited poem

Pencil

I lie on the table motionless waiting for him
My newly sharpened point glints in the sunlight
I am wooden and plain there is nothing too exciting about me
The giant walks toward me and picks me up
He puts my point on the paper and starts writing
At the start he grinds me across the page
After a minute his ideas start to come
Little does he know it is because of my brilliance
While he is reading I am used as a drumstick against the side of the table
Over the few months I have been alive I’ve been bitten and thrown
Whacked and lost for a while
It is so unfair, we are smarter and more valuable than these worthless humans
But they get all the credit for the writing and they get treated well
I guess that’s the way it is
I can’t convince these giants what they’re doing is wrong
I don’t have a say in things
After he is finished he drops me on the table runs away to play
And I’m alone again