from the place where its hiding

with feet stuck out, dirty from walking

behind me. it’s able to use hands

but I can never see them moving


a blanket for the most part, worthless

or too old to be blue

but it moves with deep soiled

breaths underneath




many of them hide here, from

all sides they exist, covered

in the dusty blue of childhood

security blankets


the dead leaves

of countless tree forts stuck

to the fabric like war medals,

now shaped like

a fear only a child could love




they’ll meet me there, each &

every fear


damned, but almost still blue

in a weathered-sort-of way


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