Shaped in torn cotton

I am broken toy,

Shaped like a man,

Somebody's favorite,

Because he did no harm.

I am broken doll,

Little stick man powerless to shape his world.

Soaking up what's given me,

Taking it in and making it mine.

What else is there to do?

I am comfort in canvas,

Arms held wide for hugs and grief.

Unused because of what's inside me,

Stuffing like needles,

Drive everyone away.

I am stitched mouth,

No words for the ears of those about,

Restrained by my own existence,

Tongue held firm for reasons not explored.

I am feeble strength,

Held away from use,

Securely stashed by walls of love,

Of want,

And fear.

I am shaped in torn cotton,

Flaws to find my stuffing,

Revealed by the holes I have rent,

And those scored upon me.

I am shaped in torn cotton,

Soft silence and sweet comfort,

Worn piece to adorn your life,

Reminder of something long past.

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