Confessions of a Persian Rug

I was beautiful once. I remember being beautiful. I was bright and bold, I brought color to their lives. I loved them. They were my family.

Then they began to use me. I was exposed to the world and the ones who were supposed to love and care for me began to put me down and once I was down they kicked me and kept kicking until I felt I would never stand tall again.

I told myself to lie there and take it because they'd had a hard day and who wouldn't like somewhere to kick their feet up after a day like that?

I noticed how easily they could walk over me without even looking down. They would walk over me without thought, without even knowing I was there. I might as well have been part of the furniture. I grew dull. I curled in on myself and gathered dust.

I sit back and wonder why must they walk all over me? I guess you might say because I allow it. I do suppose it was my fault for laying there so long.

Why did I accept this mistreatment you ask? Maybe I got used to laying there, maybe I got used to them walking all over me. You can get used to anything if you take it long enough. You might say I should get up and leave if I don't like it but don't you know that I can't?