The First Bear
The First Bear
I hug it, the item of comfort given at my birth;
A permanent reminder
of the love held for me.
The name plastered
across its chest in hot pink,
the stories I’d tell before
falling asleep at night.
Frustrations I would share
knowing it would feel
just the same because
it was an item personalised
just for me;
an extension of my personality.
The older I grow,
the more I forget.
But the item sitting
at the end of my bed,
will never forget the fears,
the nightmares,
nor the tears I shed
into its soft fur.
The insides are a mess,
but the comfort is still there.
Though it no longer suffocates
from my arms being tight around its neck,
It still sits next to my pillow on a night,
reminding me of the love my mere
existence was given.
Still with its four limbs,
button eyes and skewed bow,
It waits for me to pick it up,
to share a hug when the stress
Is just too much.
While I have collected a
A few more bears since
I came into existence,
None of them share the
highs and lows of a
child’s memories.
And as such,
none can compare
to the existence of
the bear with wise eyes.
