Life is hard, the fact that I’m a Taylor Swift poster, sucks. My owner worships me, the picture part of me, not the real me. Every morning my owner Elizabeth stares at me and almost every time I stare back. In Taylor’s eyes, and of course I’m not noticed. And everyday, she says to me, “Wish me luck!” I try to wish her luck  on the soccer game or for a big test at school. But words never come out of my mouth, ever. I’m stuck in her room, every day while she goes to school, sitting there waiting for her to come home. For her to finally see the real me. I watch as she grows older. Elizabeth paints her room what seems like every year, but I’m a poster not a clock. I watch as she takes down posters and hangs up new ones. They never talked to me either. Like I was the only one alive, like I’m all alone in this small world of a room.  After what seems like years, she begins to stare at me. Elizabeth is older, she looks like her mom but younger. I remember when she was young and her mom used to sing her to sleep. Those were the days! Now she stares at me like she never has before. She stares at me like when she stares at all the other things hanging in her room before she throws them away. I guess I don’t feel it but posters grow older too. “You know, I always thought you were alive and would speak someday. I met you, Taylor, in a concert, but you didn’t sound the way I thought you would. At all.” What, I think? “I guess you’re a little too young for me now, and you did your job. You were a good poster to me. An outstanding one too!” She did! She did care! About me! As I think about this I don’t even remember her taking me to the side of the dumpster, and throwing me away. “Your welcome!” I say. But she already left, but finally, I’m satisfied.