By Bree Leahy

My only friends are a notepad
And pen,
I am writing
And writing,
Desperate to construct a fantasy,
So different from this harsh reality.

All of the main characters left my story,
Eager to pursue their own paths of character development,
I am the spare piece,
The protagonist without a plot to protect,
The smudged ink across the page,
The result of a printing error.

I am the blurb,
Despite being short and snappy,
Everyone forgets to read me,
Everybody forgets that I exist,
Just examining the one-star reviews,
Before placing me back on the shelf.
Before placing me back on the shelf.

You can follow Bree on Twitter.

See Bree’s article on how she dealt with being a young carer and being bullied in school here.

You can find more poems like this in our poetry section.

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