William doesn’t talk to us anymore.
He left us in the closet when he moved out of the house.
Time tears at our gentle fabric skin.
William won’t let us go in his head.
He doesn’t understand that we were happy to be donated
To other children who need us.
To William, we are not toys,
We are real people that he let go.
We are more weight,
More stepping stones
On the trail of abandonment that he is building.
Posted in response to the challenge Forgotten.
I am out at night because I can’t stand myself.
People are milling on the street. Nobody looks at me. They all look at each other as they pass, and the lights decorate their faces to be tall and luminous.
It is midnight and I am getting a haircut on the lawn.
I am tired, but I shiver with excitement.
Gentle hands tug and snip at my curls,
And as they fall they take root in the grass.
When I was little I had a big pack of friends. The big kids did once too, and they romped along the streets of our town.
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