If writing was like
Having a teddy bear
I'd have the worst one
None of the kids would like
The way it just sits there
Oozing "I'm no fun"
Stuffed with pain and tears
Its black round eyes laced
With regret and fears
Only mumbles a faint sound
When you squeeze its fluffy rear
I mean I've been meaning to change
It's batteries for about half a year
Then I think,
It's just a godamn teddy bear
Then I forget
And you know, some kids find it fun
Don't be surprised
It's always the weird ones
That probably have messed up teddy bears
-Like I do
The ones that find the weirdest things
-Delightful
And for the longest time
I didn't appreciate it
Forgot..
How it soaked my tears on rainy days
And not just some-times
But for many years
Guess with time I got too familiar
With that ...with my....
-Teddy bear
Forgot all those times it helped me vent
When my frustrations had my patience
Far too spent
The times it gave me a means to paint
Beautiful girls with literally -words
So I couldn't think...
About whatever it is that bothered me
And those aren't the only things...
But they're good enough
To remind me to get those batteries
When the old ones can't keep up
To remind me as I behold it's patches
Of all the times it patched me up
Or rather helped me patch up myself
Yep, writing made me good again
-makes ...me good again
In fact it helps me capture all the good
Helps me write away all the bad
Writing, in many...many ways,
Is perhaps
The little teddy bear...
I never had
