Junk me 

I am a piece of junk. 
Junk jewellery to be precise.
I look good on certain occasions and at certain times!
I wasn’t born junk, I had traces of gold in me
I was beaten so hard that even the finest grains couldn’t be seen
A few particles that remained, were questioned and scrutinised by the insane 
Oh! that must be a mistake was the reply constant 
This is junk, you use and throw! Don’t get too attached and neither wallow..
Days went by and so did the nights,
I lived by the word junk in and out of sight
The arrival of fresh pieces break my heart a million times 
I know what it feels like to be a junk veteran and not lose sight! 
I still hope and I still pray 
I know someone, somewhere will listen and obey 
The decision on being junk wasn’t my choice 
I too, like the precious, could be in life and rejoice! 
I was forced one fine day to admit to the junk 
I gave in because I had no luck and I didn’t understand the funk 
When the doors slammed on me, I knew it was not my home
Alas! I couldn’t turn back time and neither could I fix my own pitch and tone. 
….. 
As the human trafficking statistics keep on growing, a fragile me feels deep within .. 
If everything in this world could be sold, would you and I still hold onto our hearts and claim it’s made of gold?!

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