It's Not Easy Being A Cushion

Our class has been creating some poems about an object they've chosen, and we write how they feel if they were that  object. I hope you like my work. :)

It’s Not Easy Being A Cushion

It’s not easy being a cushion,

everyone sits on me every school week

Dirty fingers touching me,

leaving grease, sand and dirt behind.

I wish I could talk but for some reason I can’t

being only one shape for the rest of my life,

I hate the colour I am at the moment,

It’s hard to breath when I have no mouth or nose.

When school is over, I get left on the floor or usually somewhere up high

does nobody know I’m afraid of heights?

Sometimes I’m a chew toy for dogs,

and a disc for older kids to throw in the air.

When I get spinned around I get a bit sick and turn green, but only in my mind.

I wish kids and adults wouldn’t sit on me and squash me all the time.

It’s not easy being a cushion :’(