Multitool

My dear page-forgetting imprisoner,
when you bought me my job had dignity.
With me, your pages were remembered and there would be no bent paper.
Well…
That is what I thought, with absolute naivety.
The reality is –

I am a multitool.
I can be an aeroplane when you fold my undeserving body.
Actually, I am a weapon when you jab your sister like a fool.
Perhaps, I am a back scratcher when you itch your unwashed hide.
No, no, no, no, I am the perfect tool to mine your nose and flick it to the side.

My dear grimy-fingered abuser,
This is humiliating.
I was a sentinel of golden paper,
A respected role in the society of literature.
If I were nurtured the favour would be returned,
But I wasn’t loved.

I am a multitool.
A toothpick to remove the gunk from your skewed mouth.
A brush to dust off your unused working desk.
Maybe a tool to pick the dirt out from under your nails.
Possibly a projectile to fire at dogs and insolent brothers.

My dear incarcerating ignoramus,
I am at the end of my tether!
Eventually there will come a time,
When I outgrow your porky palms.
I will be desired for my abundant services,
and the perfect, papery aroma will encase me as it should
And…

I will be a multitool.
A loyal guard to page numbers.
A preventer of turned in corners.
A tool to avoid rereading and holes in information.
A companion to a loyal lover of words on paper.