A phone's view

This poem is basically about a phone's views and how we are careless and think that getting a phone will make us popular and feel like you are 'part of the cool gang,' although after a while you will find that it isn't that interesting at all and so you take it for grant age. How do you think a mobile would feel...?

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1. My view

Like a turtle I arise evne though I am fragile and old,

My abusers mother says I cannot be terminated until I decease,

My brittle belly rumbles for some goodness that I shall never get; only I phones get their wishes,

Broad fingers prod my screen, my ribs are digging into my fragile SIM,

Toxic saliva splutters my face and my abuser's voice screams at me- haunting, daunting, taunting me,

That pesty ringtone violates my ears,

Dropping me carelessly on the floor as if I am sand in ones hand,

I am used as casually as a bin, my buttons are worn but nobody fears,

One day I was cared for- a designer brand,

But now only my charger's my pal.

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