Teddy’s Story

I haven’t written a poem since November, so I figured I should attempt to break out of my writer’s block.  A while back I had asked my boyfriend to give me a topic and he had said, “write from the perspective of trash.”  Initially, I wanted to write something romantic and nostalgic, like from the perspective of a broken pearl bracelet or a torn photograph, but it just wasn’t speaking to me tonight as I sat down to type.  I thought I would end up with a comedic piece instead, but somehow, that wasn’t it either.  In any case, I’m happy with the result. =)

Teddy’s Story

Arms and legs spread out,
the sun kissing
my chocolate brown fur
on a lovely summer day
as she went to play,
letting me sunbathe
all alone, in the middle
of the driveway.

When I heard a sound,
vibrations on the ground,
massive tires before me,
roll over, paralyze my knees,
“Daddy, no, please!”
She screams.  My life
flashes
before me…

Many memories
of tea parties,
decked in a dress
embarrassed to be me.
She made me pretend
to be a girlie teddy.
Time and again,
we played school.
She talked to me
and her imaginary
buddy.
She loved me…

I felt her hold me,
her glistening tears fell
over my furry body.
“He’s dying,” she cried
as cotton beads
came out of me
and I felt deflated
and ripped and ugly.
“It’s too late,” Mom said,
“He’s too dirty.”

Little by little,
Mom pries me away,
away from my Susie May
with half my beads
still on the driveway
and I fall
down and down
into an abyss
of musky darkness.

I can hardly breathe.
I can hardly see
the trash around me:
soiled papers, rotten veggies,
banana peels, nut shells.
The stench consumes me,
the flies buzz around me,
I continue to bleed
cotton beads…

Dreaming
of my life to be
in a sea of trash,
worthless, neglected,
tire-marked,
broken, alone –
a smelly Teddy
in a landfill
of hopeless memories.

Then I hear a voice,
the sound of an angel.
She was blond, disheveled,
damaged, dirty, but still
a pretty Barbie.
She smiles and says,
“I’m glad I have company.”

Broken Teddy Bear
~ image from Google

Living with Stress

In my previous post “A Poem for Your Thoughts: Experiment 1: Stress,” I posed this question: If stress were tangible, would it be a person, animal, plant or object?  One of the first images I came up with was a dog biting your pant leg.  My dog liked to do that a lot, it was adorable.  But it was also a little annoying, especially when you had things to do.  Anyhow, when I decided to write a villanelle piece to describe stress, this image didn’t quite fit in because it was too cute.  I created a new poem just for this.

Dog Biting Pant Leg
image from Google

Living with Stress

Stress follows me around
like a puppy dog
biting my pant leg.
He chases after me, watches me,
glares at me, snarls at me.
He tugs and pulls,
but he never lets go.

I push him and shove him,
shake my leg, shake my fist
tell him “shoo” to no ado.
He only barks and whines.
This damn stray
won’t go away.

He follows me
from the house to the car,
from the car to the office,
here, there, everywhere,
I drag him by the pant leg,
he just won’t let go,
slowing me down
from chasing dreams
and buttery happiness.

Tired and annoyed,
I take a breath, lean down
to pet him, love him,
pick him up and hug him,
set him down to play.
It’s okay.
Stress is now happy,
Stress will go away
and come biting back
another day.

Unattainable

Last week,  I posted “A Poem for Your Thoughts: Experiment 1: Stress” and I didn’t get too many comments.  However, one of my friends did respond.  While this poem isn’t focused on stress, I had a lot of fun writing it and do consider it a fun and collaborative piece.  I will be posting an actual poem about stress later this week, but for now, I hope you enjoy this slightly “stressful” poem 🙂

 

UnattainableJogger

My heart tightens in my chest
as the sound draws near
and I can hear
the dog’s leash jingle
in his grasp.
I watch his movement,
his biceps, triceps, hamstrings, quads
as he jogs with his dog
on this fine morning.

I watch his chest muscles,
his wavy hair, chiseled face,
oceanic eyes
as he jogs past me
yesterday, today, everyday
into my life, into my memory,
he stays.

His smile
takes my stress away.
His simple “good morning”
melts my heart
like sweet chocolate melting
on my tongue.
I want to hold him, touch him,
embrace him, love him
tenderly,
but all I do  is mutter
“good morning” back.

I go jogging everyday
just to see his handsome face,
to share some jokes, some words,
some accidental touches,
some innocent glances,
my oh -so imagined kisses
that will never come true,
but only in my wishes,
I pretend they do,
and sometimes he does too
as I bid him farewell
every single day.

I can’t help but stare at
his muscular arms
and gentle hands.
I want to hold them,
intertwine his fingers
with mine.

He tells me his obsession
with Angel
and in a flash,
I become the Devil
for I hate Angel, despise Angel.
I never met Angel,
but soon Angel will sleep with him,
cuddle with him, love him,
touch him tenderly, erotically.
I just jog with him
like his dog
and I really hate to jog.

But there’s a glimpse of hope,
Maybe, just maybe,
I think, could it be?
Could it really be?
Could Angel be a He?
Then he tells me
he loves women
smart, sweet and sexy,
just like her.

In that moment a giant boulder
comes crushing down on me
taking away all hope
for love and serendipity.

He asks if I have a crush
on anyone
and I just want
to punch him.
Doesn’t he know
I love him secretly?
He is the shining star
in my wet dreams,
the one that makes my heart sway,
my tummy cringe
and my brain go dumb.

He is the one
that teases me and pleases me,
jogs with me, accepts me
as a friend, as a companion,
to talk to, to joke with.

He is the one
my heart desires
but he will never
appease me
for he doesn’t swing
my way
and I just want
to punch him
and punch him
and punch him
so I don’t feel so stupid
for falling
in love
with someone
who’s straight.

“No, I don’t have
a crush.”