Buckling: You Know That Thing At The End Of A Belt

I just got born, almost torn.

To say the least,

I was not adorned.

They used to leave me

in the Hall or when I fall.

In between, they took this thing

putting it, buckling, snapping,

hurting me.

It kept there company clean.

But, buckling, they laid me in

so my feet would not do those things.

I just used to scream and scream.

Sensation!!! Frustration!!! Hitting!!!

I was not a bird,

not a duck,

not a dog who roughed it up.

Just a beast, who was teased.

I was the spawn of Satan see.

I often yawned,

when they came at me.

I used to tear, lie in fear,

I did not run away.

The buckles hurt, I often jerked

but where did they put my tears?

I cry somewhere,

often stare, 

and say.......the rain comes for me.

Sing a little song,

not very long,

Tulips, tulips, we all fall down.

All in monotone rehearse.