A box.
A box with a whole on tip,
where white,
soft,
tissues, come out.
One,
after another.
Never-ending.
Heavenly gift,
you have comforted,
cleaned,
and wiped away,
any tear I once cried;
from tragic news stories,
and Extreme Home Makeovers,
a death of a favorite pet,
or moving away from my Florida home.
Through stress
and worry, I am
honored
to have you always here for me.
In the winter time,
you lotion-y
Vick's scented
tissues
have taken good care of me.
Since the day of my birth,
you've been doing some of the dirtiest work.
Now I feel for you
that you must endure
the things a cold
brings me, and
when my make-up
was a little too heavy,
there you were,
you've always known
what's best.
I know I've used you.
You've been
thrown in the trash, and
flushed down the toilet
but know
that I'm not sure where I'd be now
or tomorrow
or on my wedding day
for the birth of my first child
any time in loss
without your
absorbent, cloud soft,
papery
tissues,
Tissues.