Furniture

Sometimes she feels like furniture. It’s not entirely uncomfortable.

It often feels quite necessary. Some days she is the overstuffed armchair that’s been there as long as you can remember. She is where you curl up when you’re sad and cold. You pick absently at the stuffing that is escaping the hole in the arm. It takes your mind from what bothers you. The familiar feel of the fabric on your cheek, catches your tears until you fall asleep and then wake up feeling drained, but warm and better.

Some days she is the refrigerator. You don’t really give it much notice, but you would definitely notice if it wasn’t there. It gives you nourishment and allows you to go through your day without having to consider hunger.

Some days she is the bathroom mirror. It’s role depends entirely on you. It shows you strengths ands reminds you that you are beautiful. It highlights the qualities in yourself that you don’t want to see.

She understands that the furniture is important, if unnoticed. But some days, she wishes she were a woman and not an armchair.

Her fabric is skin that has feelings and desires. Her cozy shape that you nestle into could be heat and passion if she were a woman and not a chair.

Her hands and mind hold skills and creativity. She is capable of so much more than keeping you full. She could be wanted and respected if she were a woman and not a refrigerator.

Her eyes would show warmth and lust if you looked past their ability to reflect yourself. She could share pleasure and joy if she were a woman and not a mirror.