Four. That's all it took for my comfort to be taken, my ego and pride.

-- ego so high i didn't necessarily regret,
in the moment.
a child, so frail and young and pathetic. a soul that wept at pathetism in it's bare.
Eyes like coffee brown marbles, a purity and a love for reckless behavior.

It didn't pay off. The zebra, i held close, it's unrealistic cartoony plastic eyes, beaming with my child-like essence.
my one true love.

It held my tears, my soul, unbridled pain and the distrust i grew for my father.
my personal therapist, what i held so dear to the pound of my frail, hurt heart.

All gone.
All at four, because i thought i was so grand, and strong.
I was a "older" child. I didn't need it anymore.

In a box i intended to give away, laid hundreds of old toys, and trinkets I'd collect.
The glassy like texture of the zebra tempted me to keep put, let it stay.
But no. i was stubborn, and surely enough it sunk into the depth of my other toys.

Tossing the box as big as person onto the front of my worn apartment, i felt regret sink in,
the love of my life, my stupid ******* plush, it was gone. i pried through my mother, pleading with her to go check the box. Only for it to be long gone.

All i ever would've needed in that box, was gone.
All because i thought i was strong,
my eyes gloss as i speak, for i am still a puny pathetic gal deep down, who misses her plush.