Playful

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I used to be playful.

The kid would kick me, throw me, toss me in the air.

Laughing when she’d catch me.

Chase me when she’d miss me.

Slamming me on the concrete, the pain would echo outwards.

Unheard.

Kicked between two people, always moving,

Spinning.

Rolling.

Spiraling towards another impact.

Hitting rocks and trees, rolling over plants amid nervous female cries,

“Watch out for my garden!”

Landing in trees, shaken free and crashing to the ground

To be subject

to the

Same

Harsh

Treatment.

Slowly, I lost my air.

And my playfulness.

Now, I just sit in the grass,

Collecting spider webs and leaves.

Rained and snowed on,

Forgotten in this game called

Life.

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