Mon amour pour ma poupée poupée

Her cream white color has started to fade,

Even for gold, she is something I wouldn’t trade.

Stitches burned away by the fire known as love, 

She is to me as God is to a dove. 

A small pink scrunchie holds together her soft hair,

I love her, through every rip and tear. 

Her eyes, bright and blue,

Glimmering with all the things she’s seen me through.

Her smile, never washes away,

We used to always love to play.

Her head droops down onto her chest,

I would use my old baby clothes to get her dressed. 

A heart, stitched in the middle,

She was always little,

Could never grow older than three, 

Even though she’s older than me. 

Been through stomach flu’s, the washer and bleeding,

We do so much together, like watching T.V. And reading. 

She waits for me everyday on my bed,

So bedtime was something that I would never dread. 

I wrap her in a tight blanket every night,

She’s even been on 3-12 hour flights. 

To me, she is more than a best friend. 

She means something to me that even I can’t comprehend. 

There is no word to describe how she means to me, 

Though some may disagree,

Adoring, loved, and compassion,

But to me, she is something more than a passion. 

I’ve had nightmares of her bursting into flames, 

And I cried when I woke up, happy that beside me she still would remain.

I love her more than any boy I could ever date, 

More than any word in another language I could translate. 

More than any child I could ever have, 

Maybe even more than my mom or dad.

Because I have no siblings or pets,

Everything I’ve ever told her about, she gets. 

I love her more than any word or character could say. 

Maybe I’ll have to invent one someday.