My Best Friend

He was my best friend, Mom.
Why'd you take him away?
I used to talk to him
For hours; days on end.

We'd go places together,
Play quirky mind games,
And even sleep together;
Until you took him away.

Where'd you take him, anyway?
Did you ship him off to China?
Or did you just throw him out
Like you do all "old trash?"

You always called him that,
"That old piece of trash." 
Though, even to this day,
I've never understood why.

Mom, you always said
"He's in a better place now."
Does that mean he's dead? 
No, that can't be; he was my best friend.

I'm old enough to know now.
What really happened to him?
Did he completely shrivel up
Like a wrinkly old prune?

Or maybe he just disintegrated
Into nothing,
Taking the shape
Of the ground he was born on.

But I'll never know, will I? 
Because no one tells
The "baby of the family."
But that is not me any longer.

Never again will I ever
Be called just a mere child
Whose imagination 
Knows no end.

From now on,
I will be known as a young
Adult whose creativity
Overcomes thousands.

I really liked your poem for several reasons. First and foremost, I liked the flexibility. There are so many different interpretations of who the poem could be about, or who the best friend could be. Another reason it was because it was well written. You did an excellent job with the punctuation. It definitely made the poem flow better. I especially liked the last two lines

"Adult whose creativity
Overcomes thousands"

I don't know why, but when I finished reading the poem, those were the two lines that stayed with me.

Also, I liked the use of literary devices. You had a few nice similies.

I hope you publish more work soon! I'll be looking forward to reading it!

This was pretty different from what we usually see on the site, but that's what I liked about it. You have a really mature outlook too. But what I really like, is the mystery behind this friend of yours. You don't allude to much, or truly give a lot away. What was the conflict? What happened to him? Questions that by no means have to or should be answered. Leave it hopelessly enshrouded in mystery, and make us wonder. The fact is that no created story line could really reach the caliber that each individual's minds will take this to. And everyone's going to fill in the blanks their own way, for sure.
Keep writing,
StoryWeaver

I think that the poem was lovely and I loved how flexible it was! But now I'm a little curious on what you were talking about, an old blanket or stuffed animal? Or was it a real person? Well, either way, the poem was amazingly written.