FINISHED - Challenge Day 8: Write: a love poem … for a non traditional item or person

This is a poem for my bed.

I have spent most nights, most afternoons and all morning
huddled in a mountain of pillows and blankets.
Sometimes I hide under the blankets, pretending to be a hiker,
hiding from the cold on Mount Everest.
Sometimes I pretend I'm in a small cave while under this fluffy fort that I made,
hiding from the rest of the world, half convinced that
if I never left, I will be fine.

My three pillows became my fortress from the dark,
my blanket became my invisibility cloak that shield me from reality.
Wobbly, a birthday present when I was 10,
was my loyal friend.
He, yes, it's a he, he loved me
even when I was all snot and tears.
My bed is a place where I made sense of things,
where I pour our my feelings, staining the whole room with it's darkness.
It is where therapy is sleeping and waking up is another chance to change things.
My bed is where I laughed at the most ridiculous jokes,
and come up with most of my paradoxes.

Home was far away, it was out there and out of reach,
I was sad, it wasn't easy being so far away.
Pillows, that have collected most of my tears and dreams during sleepless nights,
became a place where I rest my head when I give in to my thoughts.
Blankets that have so often imitated the arms of a protective lover,
mastered the art of being there and never letting go.
In my loneliness, they have given me comfort and peace
when there were nothing but storms in my head.
Wobbly, in these silent moments, has given me strength
and hope when all seemed lost.
My bed is the island where I sought help, where solitude was happiness
silence became another genre of music as my bed slowly became home.

Every time when I am exhausted, wounded or overjoyed,
I come back to this nest that I build, in which
I have slowly start to accept, as home.