"stuffies" poems
Hold me,
Love me,
Let me be your little girl.
Kiss me,
Touch me,
Let me show you my world.
A world of glitter,
And pink.
Of stuffies,
And cuddles,
And juice to drink.
Come be my daddy,
And feel a love,
So strong and pure.
It all sounds strange,
Believe me I know.
But its worth it..
Come hold me,
And you'll know.
Oct 11, 2015
Oct 11, 2015 at 9:43 PM UTC
cookies and cream
coloring books
blankets and stuffies
sitting on daddy’s lap
reminding him
i’m a big girl
and can be naughty
Feb 24, 2022
Feb 24, 2022 at 9:06 PM UTC
"Hello" I say to you
(Hello) You reply
"How are you?"
(Drowning)
"What are you doing?"
(Fading away)
(Hello) You say
"Hello" I reply
(How are you?)
"I'm fine"
(What are you doing)
"Listening to music"
"Hello" I say to you
(Hello) You reply
"What makes you want to die?"
(The constant people who use me)
"What makes you want to live?"
(John and his love)
(Hello) You say
"Hello" I reply
(What make you want to die?)
"Lots I guess"
(What makes you want to live?)
"My stuffies"
"Hello" I say to you
(Hello) You reply
"How do you feel right now"
(I want to go away. Forever)
"What do you want?"
(Actual consistent love)
(Hello) You say
"Hello" I reply
(How do you feel right now?)
"I'm okay. Listening to music"
(What do you want?)
"Cuddles"
(Don't lie to me)
"I'm not"
(What do you want?)
"Love?"
(No)
"Okay"
(So?)
"I want to be free"
(I want to die please)
"I want to die please"
As you may see
They are both me
But the difference is
One is who you see
Feb 26, 2022
Feb 26, 2022 at 3:55 AM UTC
When he is in the mood
My son will fill a bucket with berries,
Barely stopping for a taste.
He does not need help
After all, he is five years old,
Tall for his age, strong and determined.
His bucket will overflow before his hands falter.
Or he will run out of berries within reach.
And even then, he will gaze at the ones
Taunting him from high up in the bracken
And imagine flying up there to retrieve them
Or building a robot who can reach.
He will not notice scratches on his golden skin;
His hat will fall off, abandoned.
When the picking is done, buckets overloaded,
Only then will my boy turn to his berries.
He will eat them by the handful,
Staining not just the tips of his fingers,
Making the sounds of a happy bear cub
As he rolls around, content.
My daughter can find blackberries anywhere
Parks, paths, people’s lawns, on the sides of unlikely cliffs
No place is safe from her nose, her eyes, or her 6th sense.
She will reach, graceful and klutzy at the same time,
Stretching skinny arms to pluck berries one by one
Immediately consuming them
She is not rushed but she is efficient
She might take a break to chase a butterfly but she will return.
She is not so little anymore but still cannot be trusted to mind the bucket
As she will then stop picking altogether to guard her hoard poorly
Until she is found, face, hands and hair stained her favourite purple,
Twigs and blackberry remains tangled in her wild curls.
Her eyes, big and sweet and blue, seemingly guileless,
She would swear on unicorns and princesses,
On sparkles and batgirl, but not on her favourite stuffies,
that she has not been eating many berries at all.
And maybe many is hard to quantify for an almost four year old.
NCL September 2018
Aug 25, 2019
Aug 25, 2019 at 11:59 AM UTC
In elementary school
we had
cubbies
We were small children then.
Now we put stuff
in our
cupboards
We pronounce that as cubberds
Now think of how many times
you have added "ies" to a word
when speaking to a small child
Do you have your sockies?
Where did you put you stuffies?
...
Put your backpack in your cubbies
Mar 30, 2017
Mar 30, 2017 at 8:59 AM UTC
Doom is a perilous art. I wait expectantly for the fall. It doesn't come, not yet. It's easier to feel in the dark.
I can **** my own demons. Or, at least, starve them in the corner. Experience carved armor into my skin. Theirs is still soft, squishy.
They're so blissfully oblivious. Put this snow globe moment up on the shelf. Pain doesn't have to exist anymore. I'm exhausted.
The black hole inside my ribs swallows up everything. My chest aches in a way I'm not used to. This isn't my sadness. Is this fear?
I collect stickers and stuffies with fervor. My pockets are lined with candies to stick the pieces back together. I'm sure I'll hear it. It's not often that ten hearts shatter at once.
Gap in the picture. No matter what, they're going to feel the aftershock. Turkey basted in tears surely tastes dry. I hope October never ends.
Nov 6, 2017
Nov 6, 2017 at 2:08 AM UTC
I'm a little trapped in a moms life
I just want crunchy Cheetos n a spanking
But I'm stuck playing the wife
With no gratitude or thanking
I want to hide amongst my stuffies n disappear
But I have reality slapping me in the face
I would rather a paddle to my rear
A Daddy to put me in my place
But I'm stuck being the mother
I'm stuck taking it all on alone
I'm stuck with no other
Mindless as a drone
I am stuck being a little in my head
I'm stuck wanting a Daddy to hold
I'm stuck like lead
Knowing I'm so very old
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 11:51 PM UTC
I have made some new rules for myself
These rules are for me to get over you
Cause I don’t need you
NUMBER ONE
Stop crying kayla
That only makes it worst
I have cried for to long now.
NUMBER TWO
Delete all photos
You don’t need them anymore
They are just memories That don’t belong
NUMBER THREE
Give back sweaters
Burn all letters
Get rid of all stuffies
NUMBER THREE
The hardest of all rules
Break all ties
Cut all contact
If I follow these rules
I will succeed in my life
If I let you go
I will be happy again
If only I could
I could follow these rules
Then I would be able to let you go
May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 12:24 PM UTC
I was wrong
It wasn’t only ever just the knife
It was your hand
Your stupid name tag
My Pokémon stickers
That monster and pizza- even though I’m picky and didn’t have any
It was the mint ice cream
The black cherry soda bottles-
Do you still have the lid?
Do you have the keychain?
Your Pokémon stickers?
I hope your protection spell is intact
The crystals?
Do you wish to wear the bracelets?
Think about how my sweatshirt felt on you?
Miss having my stuffies in your bed?
I wonder if you think about me when you’re by the drawer- or see Betsy?
Do I haunt you like you do me?
Nov 2, 2022
Nov 2, 2022 at 7:02 PM UTC