Discarded Toys

I play with my rabbit

every day, sometimes twice.

Often, I wish it velveteen,

as real as the smack

of a riding crop

as I rock my mount,

ridden wet, and hard.

Not every toy was meant to be velveteen.

The streams never crossed,

left alone and solitary

in my toy box.

For you, I was only a plaything,

Never meant to be made real.

Bunnies can break.

Your mechanical heart needs winding.

You box me up,

your discarded toy,

that bored you,

displeased you.

My answers were always wrong.

I never learned to tell

the fairy tales quite

the way you wanted.

I'm just another locked toy box,

left out for whoever might want

a broken, discarded plaything,

a rag doll waiting for a new master.

Find it here.