Sometimes I Feel like a Pillow

Somedays I feel like a  pillow.
The place people go when they've no where else to be.
The reliable safe heart always ready for a cozy memory.
A dependable place to cry or pound angry fists.

Always forgiving.
Always accepting.

Sometimes I feel like a pillow,
Neglected for something better.
The snot stains from your grief become repulsive.
The lumps from your fist too disconcerting.
And really - the case was never that attractive anyway.

Sometimes I feel like a pillow,
Shoved into the closet
Mixed with ugly sweaters
and shrunken winter jackets.

And there I take the tears
And there I take the anger
And there I'm not wanted
But there I'm left to be.

Until,

She comes.

Or rather,

I go.

To hands big enough to hold the world.
They squeeze me,
Knead me,
And ask why I stayed away so long.

Sometimes I feel like a pillow
Fresh.
Full.
And ready for my purpose.