He drags me
across the floor by my foot yet my head being the only thing touching the
carpet. A three year old he is with his toys and I his victim, doll, endearing
buddy, and only friend. The lifelessness in his eyes mimicking the plastic
dullness of my own. A sown mouth on me into a smile, one I cannot help but
yearn for the day I have the muscles to open it. my stitches coming loose from
every time he wants to toss me when life is going wrong. Stains still on my
face from the minute he stops paying attention dropping me for someone new. The
times he’s left me at the park when meeting a new friend, and I tear just thinking
where he could have gone. As soon as mommy says no and he’s broken yet another
toy plane I have to find an excuse and some screws maybe even a little duct tape.
A makeshift tissue I’m always here to save the day. Even though its hard to catch all of his
problems being so small, and when the key to all his answers are bigger than
me. those moments when my soft fur let’s his enemies slip right through my
palms, and telling him to get a grip is hard when being thumb-less I can’t even
get a grip myself. Dragging across the floor I remind myself of the stitches,
the pulled fur, the dried tears on the tips of my nose, the lonely play dates,
and sorrowful nights. From the leg he has
in his loose grip he turns me upright and he holds me to his chest and smiles rubbing my head so gently. its worth it
when his tears soak into my face, and he
smiles just knowing im here. Realizing im always there when planes break and
when he’s too sick to go play. That the monster in the dark cant beat me. yes a
toy I am to him but the only thing that cant leave and doesn’t want to leave.
