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Wayward Jul 30
I was born out of fur and cotton,
With eyes that were shiny, black buttons.
From the store rack, I always watched the distant tree.
But one fine day, this little girl picked me.

My owner handled me with great care.
I was, after all, her beloved teddy bear.
I seemed to be her biggest comfort,
When she couldn't sleep or she felt troubled.

Years passed by and so did my time.
The little girl didn't need her teddy when she cried.
As I lay with the other toys in the attic,
I realized that my short life was quite tragic.

"Mr. Cuddles! Your child's best friend!"
But who's going to care about me in the end?
I played my part. I stayed with you.
But in the end this is what it came to.

Mr. Cuddles, the lonely one.
Who lies in the attic with his fur undone.
The cotton keeps falling out of his limb,
The once happy bear now lays grim.

                                                    -Waywa­rd❤
I attempted personification for the first time. I kind of relate to this poem though. I feel like Mr. Cuddles. And that somehow is my greatest fear. I fear being unloved and forgotten. I hope I got the message delivered in the poem.
Miss Saitwal Jun 16
They bruise their pupils with the sharp roses.
They built an empire with fur and sequins.
And lived with poise and jealousy.
Burnt and alive, torn yet together.
The prudent of all, dangerous of all minds.

Survive, said the father
Believe, said the Jesus
PS Rowland Jan 2014
Fur thick and matted
Concealing the warmth within
Frigid is the cold
© All Rights Reserved P.S. Rowland
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