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The Inner Monologue of a Teddybear
Trying to personify soft toys can be fun, kids
I sit, angle poised, my beady eyes see all
Sulking in dust and waiting for my time to come
The gift that lived for a day before being abandoned on a high shelf
Never to be played with again
Devoid of love, my stitching intact
But I yearn to be battered and bruised though overuse
My stuffing doesn’t spill out at the seams as it rightfully should
It sits neatly inside me
My flimsily stitched limbs, attached
Not amiably dangling off, dog eared and sick stained
I’m not the comfort tool I wish to be, but a decorative prop
In the play known as life
Gift tag still sewn and neat
My fur is thick, not healthily worn away
I bear no scars nor marks of amusement that I beg for
I sit here, angle poised
Trying to personify soft toys can be fun, kids
I sit, angle poised, my beady eyes see all
Sulking in dust and waiting for my time to come
The gift that lived for a day before being abandoned on a high shelf
Never to be played with again
Devoid of love, my stitching intact
But I yearn to be battered and bruised though overuse
My stuffing doesn’t spill out at the seams as it rightfully should
It sits neatly inside me
My flimsily stitched limbs, attached
Not amiably dangling off, dog eared and sick stained
I’m not the comfort tool I wish to be, but a decorative prop
In the play known as life
Gift tag still sewn and neat
My fur is thick, not healthily worn away
I bear no scars nor marks of amusement that I beg for
I sit here, angle poised
pb wrote: Nice. Cute and sad at the same time.
Black Glove nods in agreement
Black Glove nods in agreement
FinalFantasyFanatic wrote:
> Write it again.
> But this time, make the teddy evil and eat people.
Odly that reminds me of something from Malcolm in the Middle, but I don't know what...
> Write it again.
> But this time, make the teddy evil and eat people.
Odly that reminds me of something from Malcolm in the Middle, but I don't know what...
pb wrote:
> Nice. Cute and sad at the same time.
Exactly my intentions. We're like kindred spirits, you and I.
> Nice. Cute and sad at the same time.
Exactly my intentions. We're like kindred spirits, you and I.
Nice. Cute and sad at the same time.
Write it again.
But this time, make the teddy evil and eat people.
But this time, make the teddy evil and eat people.
same here my msn has given up the ghost and layed on its back with its legs in the air saying "try later"
has this got something to do with your child hood the loss of a toy or something because it is good
I've given msn up for lent.
Actually no, it won't sign on because theres service problems.
Actually no, it won't sign on because theres service problems.
How bizarre.
Still, it puts all my old teddy bears in a frightful new light.
Anyway:
Come on MSN.
Still, it puts all my old teddy bears in a frightful new light.
Anyway:
Come on MSN.
The Inner Monologue of a Teddybear
Trying to personify soft toys can be fun, kids
I sit, angle poised, my beady eyes see all
Sulking in dust and waiting for my time to come
The gift that lived for a day before being abandoned on a high shelf
Never to be played with again
Devoid of love, my stitching intact
But I yearn to be battered and bruised though overuse
My stuffing doesn’t spill out at the seams as it rightfully should
It sits neatly inside me
My flimsily stitched limbs, attached
Not amiably dangling off, dog eared and sick stained
I’m not the comfort tool I wish to be, but a decorative prop
In the play known as life
Gift tag still sewn and neat
My fur is thick, not healthily worn away
I bear no scars nor marks of amusement that I beg for
I sit here, angle poised
Trying to personify soft toys can be fun, kids
I sit, angle poised, my beady eyes see all
Sulking in dust and waiting for my time to come
The gift that lived for a day before being abandoned on a high shelf
Never to be played with again
Devoid of love, my stitching intact
But I yearn to be battered and bruised though overuse
My stuffing doesn’t spill out at the seams as it rightfully should
It sits neatly inside me
My flimsily stitched limbs, attached
Not amiably dangling off, dog eared and sick stained
I’m not the comfort tool I wish to be, but a decorative prop
In the play known as life
Gift tag still sewn and neat
My fur is thick, not healthily worn away
I bear no scars nor marks of amusement that I beg for
I sit here, angle poised