Broken Plate

This is how i imagine a broken plate feels... 

Pain. I couldn't believe this had happened, how could this have happened to me? I'd always done my duty, never complained. I did my very best to keep food from sticking to my surface, and I would hold tight to the table while the people were eating off of me. I didn't slide around, no sir, not me. I didn't mind being left in the dish rack all night, with just the butter knife to talk too (and let me tell you, butter knives aren't much for conversation). I had done a good job, ever since the people brought me into this house. Everything was going so well, why did this have to happened? Slippery hands, and not enough care taken, that's what. And now look, I'm broken into half a dozen different pieces.  And you know what's going to happen to me, don't you? No glue for me, no patches, no fixing like they do with the porcelain figurines in the living room. I'm just a simple dinner plate. No, I'll get nothing but the garbage can. I'll get thrown away like nothing I've ever done was of any service or importance. It's not fair! I've worked hard all these years, I was there when they had the special dinner after the baby was born, and i was there for every Christmas Eve dinner, and birthday dinner. I was the one their daughter ate off of on her sixteenth birthday, and the one their son used the night he announced he was accepted to Berkeley. Me, all this time, it was me. And now what? I'll get thrown out like yesterday's trash. It's not fair. I'm a part of this family too, aren't I?