Reticent

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Growing up, I had enough teddy bears;
Approximately six or seven in my room.
They each had individual names, given to them by me.

Every night,
When it was lights out.
I'd pull out a touch,
Placing it right in the very centre of our circle of trust;
A circle of all my teddies.
And I'd tell them of all my adventures and stories;
Ideas and imaginations.
And even though they never did talk back,
I was really glad they listened.

Because growing up,
No one wanted to hear thoughts from a little boy,
When all they did,
Was find it silly.

But my teddies were different.
They didn't judge me,
Or condemn me for my bizarre imaginations.
They accepted me,
For me.
In that spilt second,
I could be my uttermost complete self.
I could tell them all my secrets,
Without being scared of them blurting it out to anyone.
I could give them my absolute trust.
Even though they were lifeless,
In that split second,
They had more life than most people did today.
My teddies,
Were my safety zone to just be me,
In search,
Of no acceptance.

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