It didn’t appreciate its role in life; it thought its fate quite bad.
Piece by piece it would be torn, used and discarded without relent,
clinging to the bathroom wall, the roll, it would lament,
I’d rather be a paper airplane, or an important document to sign,
a book like Harry Potter would do, or a menu would be fine.
It felt a job such as it had would be nothing but misery;
the roll would rather hide in the closet or turn back into a tree.
The very next morning, around 6 a.m. the roll decided to flee,
“Toilet paper have rights too, every brand should be free.”
It tried to jump but couldn’t, it could not even fall.
The toilet paper was wrapped up tight to it’s holder in the stall.
“I want to see the bright blue sky, run through grassy fields,
but alas,” it moaned to itself, “This roller will not yield.”
Another idea came to light; a plan to get away.
It’s ‘outside’ could unroll itself, it’s cardboard core would stay.
Down upon the tile floor it slid and under the bathroom door,
unrolling down the pantry hall, though pieces of it tore.
Toilet paper made it outside, across the big front yard,
never looking back it left itself scattered, unraveled yard by yard.
Rolls can only roll so far, you know, even two thousand sheets.
It’s struggles came to an end just two feet from East Main Street.
Partly soggy from the puddles, toilet paper laid down to rest.
Now poor roll felt sad once more, was this the very best?
It was stretched out way too thin, there wasn’t any more.
It lost most of it’s inner strength without it’s cardboard core.
It certainly did not feel all right, turning brittle in the sun,
“I feel too incomplete, wasted and quite undone.”
“Of course you do, my scented friend,” said a voice from a can.
It was the New York Times, of which toilet paper was a fan.
“You cannot pretend who you are is not what really should be.
Everybody’s perfect by themselves, when they learn to see.
We each have a way to be happy; it’s just different for everyone.
Learn to be of your most use that is what’s really fun.
All my inky pages spread good news, according to the plan.
I’m glad when I’ve been read and in the recycling can.”
Toilet Paper thought things over and finally saw the light.
Everyone needs me to be toilet paper, the New York Times was right.
To be the very best I can, that’s should be my goal.
From now on I will be someone’s favorite toilet paper roll.
Now toilet paper sits on the roll, feeling cushiony and lush,
and you can hear it whistle a merry tune at each and every flush.
The moral of this silly tale is just as plain as can be;
the closer to our core we are the more we are free,
and help others the way we can, whatever that might be,
because happiness lies in trying to be the best that we can be!