Curled up against the crib bars
Like a sleeping flower.
Watching a shadow haunt the walls,
Of this place in my year-old mind.
Faces splattered on doors,
Unwittingly playing make-believe.
Twisting and turning, where do the monsters lie?
Entranced in this lump of cloth brought to life
By the magic of my child’s imagination,
Softly arching over my covers,
Which had never felt so soft.
She was so real to me that
I became the fantasy,
Which I could not believe.
I was her doll,
She’d been controlling me from birth.
Stuffy memories fell from accidents,
Brushing off of the forgotten door.
Losing her senses, she saw with my eyes alone.
But despite the imperfections in the
Form of holes and tears,
“Bunny” was more whole to me than ever.
Spun from the pain within my
Shoulder, Jackie arose in a new incarnation.
Gusts of sin ruffled the warped ears,
But she was more magnificent than ever.
Trapped beneath a monster of love,
Softly seething, planning revenge.
Ripping through skin, through flesh, to bone
Judging through my mind alone.
Every stitch was an adventure,
Mapped in the lines of her blemished surface.
Twisted through the façade of
Ivory and pale crimson, lovingly, crudely mended.
Now as my age has denied her
The color and effervescence
Of her youth, she comes alive as
The moonlight joins the daring dance of
The patterns of peace.
Delicately twisting through reflections of
Doors casting shadows on my mind.
Make believe is the curve of my hand,
The same way it was that child’s back when
The walls whispered goodnight.
Age 13, Grade 7