I made a little teddy bear
And stuffed him with love
And stitched him with smiles
I had a teddy bear
To love and call my own
But the demons came
And they became me
And I became them
And now the little teddy bear
Is ripped and torn
Covered in broken words that hurt
And the blood stains from my wrist
I'm sorry little teddy bear
For making you feel this way
Ripped up
And violated
I'm sorry little teddy bear
For hurting you this way
But if you feel alone and lost
Know that I love you anyway
YOU ARE READING
Hiraeth.
Poetry(n) A homesickness for a place you can never return to, a place which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past. Collection no.2 --very old poems--