Stuffing and Fabric

My childhood drags on the ground
behind me
like an old stuffed animal,
torm and dirty.

My little hand holds
tightly onto it,
scared of what happens
if I let go.

And yet it pains me,
to know that it is there,
to know that I keep something
well past its time.

So I do not look,
except for blurry glances,
because I need to know
that it's there.