I press my fingers to the glass, then my forehead, my nose-
and all those things,
they get so cold.
I'm a toddler who left their stuffed bear-
with mangle fur-
in the rain. We drive away.
Yet as I grow up I realize that it really wasn't a bear-
with mangle fur.
Because I left myself behind, raindrops pounding on the inside.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Then, what if my enemy is my own flesh and bone?
The enemy of my enemy is myself. Does that mean I should be my friend,
when the enemy of my enemy is my foe?
That stupid bear,
with mangled fur,
I used to talk to it late at night, and it would whisper back.
It used to tell me that everything would be alright. It used to tell me not to cry.
It used to tell me that I was not those whispers heard,
behind my back.
That tiny bear-
with mangle fur-
would hover over my heart. It would make those whispers go away- they were always in the back of my mind.
The whispers I heard deep in my sleep-
most were coming from me.
It was in my head- all in my head.
A warm bear-
with mangle fur-
I clasped tightly in my hands. I like to believe it hugged me back, when I crushed it in the night.
A thing so small could make me think that the old saying was true.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend,
even when I was fighting myself.
Because though a stuffed bear-
with mangled fur,
would keep my company for long, when my enemy was myself, I needed to be my own friend.
But that frail bear-
with mangled fur,
couldn't last forever. I won't forget the day I realized-
That my precious bear-
with mangle fur,
was falling apart beyond repair. I didn't know how I could put it back together.
Yet I still carried it with me, because I loved it more than you could know.
But it got taken from me for a new bear-
one with soft fur.
But this bear- It doesn't tell me,
what I need to hear.
It doesn't know me, it doesn't care.
I slowly, slowly, find myself forgetting what was said.
By my safety bear-
with mangled fur.
Everything around me is crushed, or maybe it only seems that way,
because I am once again my enemy-
and I refuse to be my friend.
My favorite bear-
with mangled fur,
got left out in the rain. I drive away, I drive away-
every part of me tearing in two.
YOU ARE READING
My Letters to the World
PoetryEmotions. We all have them even though sometimes we may want to get rid of them. We've all been confused by them, maybe some more than others. Or maybe we're just confused all the time. This is my story. The story of a girl just trying to get throu...
