My first three are the last of a famous rapper’s name, drop the Dr. My middle is you, in the first person. My last three are the first of a four-letter computer company. Combined, I’m a toy played with seven days a year, with gelt and latkes.

First three short for an herb green and friendly. My last three are an action, something you do when you want it. Put together, and I'm a great idea, the best chicken treat, or a solid chunk of gold.

I come in many shapes and can be part of other things, but everyone has at least one of me. I have a face, and I tell you something important. Sometimes, I also have hands, but some people find it harder to understand what I say when I have hands.

Made from a metamorphic rock, old skool teachers still use me to help get their ideas across. I will be covered in dust until a sponge returns me to my matte black, maybe green, finish.

I can be made of stone, language, or sound, Built to keep limits or keep you aground. Break me to pass or stay on your side, I’m the thin line where two worlds collide.