I must be the devil;
Cursed and sworn and damned,
My mounting sins sketched ever in your memory,
As a catalogue of resources,
Stored for later use.
I am a pillow when you’re angry;
Soft, innocent,
Comforting relief for you while I
Bear the brunt of your annoyance.
Covered in black writing,
Black splodges,
Purple bruises,
I am your football;
A sense of relief, a feeling of pleasure,
A prize possession to be shown off to your friends.
Yet only when you want me.
Not always...
Sometimes it’s like I’m a broken teddy bear;
Missing an eye,
Stuffing knocked out,
I’m kept in a cupboard for months on end,
Wondering –
Is it because you love me really?
