Autobiography of a doormat

By Revon Dias

An autobiography of a Doormat -Revon Dias

I'm walked, I'm beaten

and wrecked upon;

With not a bit of mercy,

Hi, its me the doormat lying

On the floor,

And here's my tiny life story.

I opened my eyes on the

apex of a sapling;

Was greeted by the Sun's

sultry smile.

Being a juvenile

I was enthusiastic,

Unknown of the fact having

a million footsteps to trace.

I got plucked and was

sent to a factory;

There I was shaped to be

a widely used entity,

I was afraid to being

subjected to a tragedy,

But had the hope of a day when

I'd be used as a commodity.

But now a sense of regret

do I feel,

'Coz my dignity is lowered

with no mercy;

I'm worn, beaten, ragged

and left bruised,

To corrode under the fact that

If this continues,

I'll soon turn as a prophecy.

I've realized that they've

no respect for me,

Hence the bang my soft face

against their feet

Sadistically,

I don't know why do they

forget to understand,

That my heart too burns,

Under the flames of their ego,

Gradually.

By Revon Dias