Teddy

Teddy sat on the bed by himself.

I knew he "heard" the shouting of my sister when she came into my room,
and somehow his unmoving, unknowing eyes held an observer that could see my sadness.

I had done nothing to her,
I was only singing.
Loud and shrill, yes,
but for myself and in my room.
Yet she didn't ask me to be quieter or to stop.
She didn't ask for permission to come in.
She didn't show any sign that this was my room, or that I was happy, or that I was her brother.
She had slammed my door open, looked at me with blind fury,
and screamed at me with hatred, demanding that I shut up,
and pierced my ears with the words "you sing horrible! simply horrible!",
whose etched scars I still retain.

Teddy just looked at me.
or straight ahead, it doesn't matter.
but he was the one companion I had in the moment.
my lifeless, speechless, choiceless friend,
only with him I shared my hurt.

no opinion,
no judgement,
only cotton and eyes
against which to dry my hurt.

(Written in 2021, probably)