I held your weight when you came home at night,
cushioning your aches in my velvet heat.
I bore the weight of your stolen dreams
while you laid your shoes at my feet.
I held all spilled tears of sorrow,
squeaked joy at each happiness,
endured every slice of ridicule,
in all weather, I withstood the test.
But I prepared for the inevitable,
though worn with age and time.
Built sturdy to last lifetimes,
I knew you’d leave me behind.
I prepared for this moment
with each move and rearrangement.
Your longer hours at work
mostly helped the estrangement.
I thought I worth was a little more,
not considered old, but antique.
Never believed some paper doll
meant more to you than me.
I believed for just a moment
that you would even dare,
to weigh the quiet moments.
Think me more than a chair.
You proved me wrong on moving day,
when baby girl stood crying at the door.
Everything packed, but you came back
to pick her paper dolly off the floor.