Unwanted poem

Maybe I am just broken
story that was not meant to be told
rushed by writers hand
blank spots
ink stains
nothing you could hold
just non important poem
sad, on paper
crumpled in bin
next to poets feet.
But every poem wishes to be read
out loud
even the bad ones
even the ones with stains
droplets of salty water on my bed
as they crawl down
erasing verse after verse
written on my body

aching to be hold
page straightened
by my poets hands
as he reads every line on my skin
out loud
but instead
i am shriveled in the bin
bad poem
story of old
never to be told