Toys

As I was driving home last night this poem came to me. Before it bring about unnecessary alarm, know that after talking to a few people, I feel much better, but still feel that this poem should be written down for others who may be feeling the same way.

I've been feeling like a discarded toy

the one in the box

or collecting dust on the shelf.

Never really played with,

except for in moments of nostalgia or need.

I'm feeling like Woody

from Toy Story.

All of the shiny new toys are distracting you from me

I try to throw myself to the floor

just to get noticed

but to no avail.

You still chose Buzz.

With all of the lights and whistles.

Although sometimes when he is no where to be found

you still pull my string before throwing me aside again.

I feel like the Velveteen Rabbit.

There through the times of heartache and disease

but now contaminated

So I need to be thrown into the trash

Burned

But all I really want is to be real

When will I be real?

The type of real that cannot be replaced

Or manipulated

But fully acknowledged as real

Someone with feelings

And needs

And as someone more then just your play thing.

Dear God, please cut the strings

that hold me in bondage to being a toy

Forgive those who have treated me as such

And forgive me for making myself less than human to please them.

Cut the strings.

Make me real.

Make me Yours.