"plushies" poems - Hello Poetry

I used to read I used to write Songs, Stories, Poetry. I used to knit I used to sew Plushies, Scarfs, Roses. What happened to the days Where I found enjoyment from the little things? Why is it now That what I once loved Feels like a chore That tires me, Bores me, Makes me contemplate everything. What happened to my carefree childhood Where nothing mattered Other than when I could write Songs, Stories, Poetry? When I uses to knit and sew Plushies, Scarfs, Roses? What happened? And why?

0

Apr 1, 2018

Apr 1, 2018 at 5:51 AM UTC

charlie-may-cullip

Depression killed my creativity

I used to read I used to write Songs, Stories, Poetry. I used to knit I used to sew Plushies, Scarfs, Roses. What happened to the days Where I found enjoyment from the little things? Why is it now That what I once loved Feels like a chore That tires me, Bores me, Makes me contemplate everything. What happened to my carefree childhood Where nothing mattered Other than when I could write Songs, Stories, Poetry? When I uses to knit and sew Plushies, Scarfs, Roses? What happened? And why?

30

"Alright, I've had enough of this." "Yeah, what are we doing looking at drawings of plushies of Pokémon anyway?" "I guess that's just go the Internet rolls; you just keep going off on tangents, forever."

0

Jul 8, 2013

Jul 8, 2013 at 9:01 PM UTC

Anubis-the-Philosomancer

Interweb

"Alright, I've had enough of this." "Yeah, what are we doing looking at drawings of plushies of Pokémon anyway?" "I guess that's just go the Internet rolls; you just keep going off on tangents, forever."

3

fun and games and bright lights on strings stuffed plushies & autumn leaves and kindness from every person i see until you remove the carnival glass and im seen for what i am and the carnival goers in all their own carnival masks do not understand ive spoken my truth so they pack up the stands pile bright costumes into dark vans and i find myself left with an empty field of cold air

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Oct 9, 2019

Oct 9, 2019 at 1:02 AM UTC

milkcarton

cold air

fun and games and bright lights on strings stuffed plushies & autumn leaves and kindness from every person i see until you remove the carnival glass and im seen for what i am and the carnival goers in all their own carnival masks do not understand ive spoken my truth so they pack up the stands pile bright costumes into dark vans and i find myself left with an empty field of cold air

18

10:39:47 She should be married by now I watched The black hand on the white basel tick on, reflecting my poker face with the Patek Phillipe logo 10:41:35 Numb. Pain. Pain or numb? It should be me, she was the one I had her, she was mine She likes tomato juice, miniatures Black Louboutins in size 4 and a half Tatler, oreo cheese Dairy Queen blizzard Mint tea, kebab and omakase 10:42:23 Dance. Pole or Burlesque? body rock hard, eyes on me It should be me, down the aisle Her lips always red, her eyes curl up when she smiles cat eye, plushies, flowers on fields Books, panels, her wit sharp as knife 10:44:45 She should be walking out of church Eyes stared at the door I had no blue in Tiffany, red in Cartier Blood on my hands, pyramid top No time for her, I made it all for her So she left me in the middle Of an Hermes store 10:45:13 I saw her, white dress smiling She didn't look at him the way she looked at me 10 years ago, today, 10:45 First time I saw her, in a red dress I opened the car door. I crumpled my Loro Piana in the rain 10:46:34 I grabbed her, her mother screamed Her best friend laughed, her dad sighed The man reached for me, I am not letting go

0

Feb 5, 2018

Feb 5, 2018 at 10:10 AM UTC

bwan0214

How to ruin a wedding

10:39:47 She should be married by now I watched The black hand on the white basel tick on, reflecting my poker face with the Patek Phillipe logo 10:41:35 Numb. Pain. Pain or numb? It should be me, she was the one I had her, she was mine She likes tomato juice, miniatures Black Louboutins in size 4 and a half Tatler, oreo cheese Dairy Queen blizzard Mint tea, kebab and omakase 10:42:23 Dance. Pole or Burlesque? body rock hard, eyes on me It should be me, down the aisle Her lips always red, her eyes curl up when she smiles cat eye, plushies, flowers on fields Books, panels, her wit sharp as knife 10:44:45 She should be walking out of church Eyes stared at the door I had no blue in Tiffany, red in Cartier Blood on my hands, pyramid top No time for her, I made it all for her So she left me in the middle Of an Hermes store 10:45:13 I saw her, white dress smiling She didn't look at him the way she looked at me 10 years ago, today, 10:45 First time I saw her, in a red dress I opened the car door. I crumpled my Loro Piana in the rain 10:46:34 I grabbed her, her mother screamed Her best friend laughed, her dad sighed The man reached for me, I am not letting go

43

Why do I have to go through this? When will the chattering ever stop? Am I capable enough to follow my dreams? I wonder as I turn the doorknob. Every cell in my body was hated by every cell in yours I was only a child Would you rather suffocate me in drawers? What do you even benefit from it? Being happy in front of others But spit hateful words without people knowing Oh what a hypocritical pretender It’s like being Chained up Whipped up Getting all messed up Or like the cool cyan water Being ferociously consumed by the swift fiery orange Rushing through like the high tide Seine delta But Plushies, Blankies and Aromatherapy Radiate through every inch of my body, Experiencing tranquillity Faintly hearing... “Are you alright love?” “I was afraid you would.” “I’m glad that you’re okay!”

0

Jun 1, 2018

Jun 1, 2018 at 9:59 AM UTC

courtgrip

Smultronställe

Why do I have to go through this? When will the chattering ever stop? Am I capable enough to follow my dreams? I wonder as I turn the doorknob. Every cell in my body was hated by every cell in yours I was only a child Would you rather suffocate me in drawers? What do you even benefit from it? Being happy in front of others But spit hateful words without people knowing Oh what a hypocritical pretender It’s like being Chained up Whipped up Getting all messed up Or like the cool cyan water Being ferociously consumed by the swift fiery orange Rushing through like the high tide Seine delta But Plushies, Blankies and Aromatherapy Radiate through every inch of my body, Experiencing tranquillity Faintly hearing... “Are you alright love?” “I was afraid you would.” “I’m glad that you’re okay!”

29

i came across this post today— it asked me if i wondered what would be the best place to leave my heart— even if it's bits and pieces, like shells in the sand. made a list for my own peace, but here to share it, if you seek to leave a piece of your own: the sea, people claim, carries the tranquil and provides the cool; the empty temples and churches, where your heart prays and reluctantly admits; graveyards at night, protected by those who left their own behind. libraries and dusty old bookstores, in between the pages and caskets of the used shores. sun-dappled shades of yellow, green, and orange— once settled, the purples and pinks of the similar hues. gardens of thorns and flowers, the sleeves of your last lover; knots of the willow trees, in winter blues and heated blooms, risky texts during the night, with strangers i met online, in midst of late monsoon showers, not to miss out the midnight hours. a few bits i leave in the misty mornings of the early summer, the drenched evenings of the spring shimmer. the company of my closest companions— in the fur of a cat, the nip of a bunny, the smile of a pup, sometimes in a sunset, in the lush green of the forests, often in the foil of the autumn trees. mostly on my bed, in my tear-filled, forsaken pillow, and against the one i sleep so dearly. plushies and teddies, keepsakes of childhood memories. with all those i've met so far, and cookie crumbles at the footstep of my life— for those who are welcome and those who are not. i have left, and leave, a lot more pieces. i wonder if my heart is a cake-a-piece.

0

Jul 2, 2025

Jul 2, 2025 at 10:02 AM UTC

poeticaofisshues

a list & a sugary battle

i came across this post today— it asked me if i wondered what would be the best place to leave my heart— even if it's bits and pieces, like shells in the sand. made a list for my own peace, but here to share it, if you seek to leave a piece of your own: the sea, people claim, carries the tranquil and provides the cool; the empty temples and churches, where your heart prays and reluctantly admits; graveyards at night, protected by those who left their own behind. libraries and dusty old bookstores, in between the pages and caskets of the used shores. sun-dappled shades of yellow, green, and orange— once settled, the purples and pinks of the similar hues. gardens of thorns and flowers, the sleeves of your last lover; knots of the willow trees, in winter blues and heated blooms, risky texts during the night, with strangers i met online, in midst of late monsoon showers, not to miss out the midnight hours. a few bits i leave in the misty mornings of the early summer, the drenched evenings of the spring shimmer. the company of my closest companions— in the fur of a cat, the nip of a bunny, the smile of a pup, sometimes in a sunset, in the lush green of the forests, often in the foil of the autumn trees. mostly on my bed, in my tear-filled, forsaken pillow, and against the one i sleep so dearly. plushies and teddies, keepsakes of childhood memories. with all those i've met so far, and cookie crumbles at the footstep of my life— for those who are welcome and those who are not. i have left, and leave, a lot more pieces. i wonder if my heart is a cake-a-piece.

46

Calico sits against this bone carved seat Two black ears a brown patch next to the left And A pink nose Obsidian stitched whiskers held high A pink fox hides under this crypt An adorable trade in Heart skips Content with this deal End pieces smile in glee It's not so bad having two plushies

0

Apr 10, 2019

Apr 10, 2019 at 11:45 PM UTC

Elizz

Stuffed Smile

Calico sits against this bone carved seat Two black ears a brown patch next to the left And A pink nose Obsidian stitched whiskers held high A pink fox hides under this crypt An adorable trade in Heart skips Content with this deal End pieces smile in glee It's not so bad having two plushies

11

in shiny black shoes, with tiny knee highs things were different, life was simple people were scary my friends, my interests were imaginary. four little walls sealed with a door whispers and giggles stuffed plushies strewn along the floor. looking you in the eye struck me with fear raising your tone twisting your face into disgust disappointment or simply blind rage made me want to melt deep into the contents of the floor. when I grew older I felt I was stronger, the will to cry when I looked into your eyes was suppressed much longer. my friends, once imaginary, started having faces going by names like Susan or Gary. the little flower still waiting to bud began to bloom to blossom to develop new fears from choosing the right spot on the big blue rug, to rejection in my high school years. now here I rest, in a dormitory bed short, velvet hair spread across the pillows night after night snuggled close to my plushies picked up from the old floor. nightmares, night terrors panic attacks low-self esteem. a smile on the outside isn't as it seems. I may grow older may shut off my emotions, grow colder, seem stronger, the strength not to cry lasts longer, I still am that little girl, that moonchild sitting waiting eager to burst through. ready to expose my weaknesses like moonlight upon the river.

0

Mar 21, 2021

Mar 21, 2021 at 11:30 AM UTC

moonlit_writer27

when I was small

in shiny black shoes, with tiny knee highs things were different, life was simple people were scary my friends, my interests were imaginary. four little walls sealed with a door whispers and giggles stuffed plushies strewn along the floor. looking you in the eye struck me with fear raising your tone twisting your face into disgust disappointment or simply blind rage made me want to melt deep into the contents of the floor. when I grew older I felt I was stronger, the will to cry when I looked into your eyes was suppressed much longer. my friends, once imaginary, started having faces going by names like Susan or Gary. the little flower still waiting to bud began to bloom to blossom to develop new fears from choosing the right spot on the big blue rug, to rejection in my high school years. now here I rest, in a dormitory bed short, velvet hair spread across the pillows night after night snuggled close to my plushies picked up from the old floor. nightmares, night terrors panic attacks low-self esteem. a smile on the outside isn't as it seems. I may grow older may shut off my emotions, grow colder, seem stronger, the strength not to cry lasts longer, I still am that little girl, that moonchild sitting waiting eager to burst through. ready to expose my weaknesses like moonlight upon the river.

79