He's got soft brown fur

and velvety ears,

black as coal I've never seen

but have read about.

And sweet, pleading eyes

like those of girls

in storybooks.

And he'll sit with me while

I stroke him and tell

him everything.

But he's only a stuffed dog.


She's got kind listening eyes

and a happy mouth,

like a rose petal fluttering softly

to the ground.

And an open, welcoming grin

that invites me in

to talk to her.

And she really cares about my

pain, and listens while I tell

her everything.

But she's only a painted portrait.


Like everything I care about.

A painted smile stretched

on canvas.

Sweet glass eyes and nothing

real to hurt me, betray me,

or ever leave me behind.

I really like this poem. I wrote it in a fit of sadness in the middle of the night, which is how and when I write much of my poetry. The (enter)'s are because I want spaces between my verses, but the stupid FictionPress format doesn't let me have blank lines. The (enter)'s don't mean anything.