I am an object.

I am pages of a magazine,

that stuck together, so

you need to forcefully,

rip and tear me open.

I am a lawn chair,

so you can bend me over 

whenever you like, just because.

I am a drysheet wall that you

can just throw punches at

and put holes in whenever you please.

I am an object and

I cannot argue with you

or tell you to not touch me like that

or tell you to stop because you're hurting me

or tell you that I want to go home.

because after all, 

i am nothing but an object.