Kitchen Sink (A Poem)

I am a kitchen sink.

I can't deny it. 

What's a kitchen sink, you ask?

I can't define it.

The only person that can save me is me,

a truth I accepted long ago.

They try to make me sing in a different key,

which is something they won't let go.

They attempt rescues, 

and leave me askew.

I'm on the floor with bits of my mind everywhere. 

 In the bathroom,

in the bedroom,

in the garage,

 in the kitchen.

I'm a kitchen sink,

and it really isn't so bad.

After all, everybody thinks it's a fad.

So if it really is a fad, 

why am I on the brink?

The brink of sadness, 

the brink of madness,

the brink of wanting-to-kill-myself-I-can't-believe-I'm-gladness.

I'm a kitchen sink,
and I don't understand,
why everybody else is so bland.
After all, we don't all come out of the same can.

Why am I different?
Why do I stand out?
Why can't I be like them,
instead of all strewn about?

What is so special,
about a girl like me?
Who really cares,
for somebody as sad as can be?