Notebook pages

Bought from a shop, taken home by a boy called Flynn
Wishing he would treasure me not discarding me carelessly in the bin
Waiting for him to record his thoughts on each faint blue line
Kept in a drawer wondering when it will be drawing time
Tickling and scratching with his sharp, pointy pencil
Freehand sketching and sometimes using a stencil
I wish my pages could keep coming forever
Plus, I know Flynn and I would always be together
Flynn made notebooks the brand new trend
Now I’ve finished this poem and this is the end.