the thousand lives of a teddy bear
by @poetrysometimes
my imagination knows no limits.
for as someone so filled with stuffing,
I am rarely considered as more than just
something.
if I could do anything,
I’d travel the world with ease,
attempting the greatest of feats.
pushing the limits of my stitched, stubby legs,
dirtying my fur,
all for the sake of something new.
you’d find me mounting the highest peaks and
paddling through the deepest seas;
I’d have taught myself to speak,
become fluent in Portuguese;
you’d find me on TV as the next big celebrity,
or winning Olympic medals;
headlining Broadway shows;
I could be suffering through school;
you’d see me fall in love,
soon to discover heartbreak;
or living paycheck to paycheck,
awaiting my big break;
you’d notice me at my happiest
and you’d admire me at my worst;
you’d find me everywhere and nowhere,
still,
you’d find me alive.
I’d have loved,
I’d have lost,
I’d have failed and succeeded,
I’d have lived a thousand lives apart from my own.
though looking back down at my stubby, stuffed, fur legs,
my mind—
my stuffing—
settles.
After all, I am just something,
incapable of emotion and accomplishment.
The life of a teddy bear is not very exciting.
nor is it fun,
nor is it interesting,
nor is it heart-wrenchingly beautiful,
nor is it anything at all—
but it could be.
at least, in my imagination, it is.