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Johnny walker Jul 2019
Describe my like a patch work quilt one square at a time each square  
a stage of my life  I'm In at any particular time In my life but feel there's still
a patche
to make my quilt complete felt always It's needed one more square then Its
full benefit will be
felt and my patch quilt will
K Balachandran Jul 2018
sky, patchwork designer quilt,
invites the dull sun to rest;
keeps the rain clouds away!
Star BG Apr 2018
I am a sacred quilt,
sewn of the finest silk.
Patched together by
experiences gathered,
People I’ve met,
Days gone by.

My quilt vibrates
with love infused light.
With the moment,
as I add to its illumination.
As I breath deep
and harbor gratitude.

I am a precious quilt,
sewn with focus and intention
Always carried to give me warmth
as I align with the truth.
Truth hat I carry threads
of the Divine and therefore
am a gift.
Inspired by BJ Donovan. A gifted writer. Thanks
Jenovah Jul 2014
Emotions running deep,
Like stairs entirely too steep;
I climbed.

My legs grew weak.
With shaky limbs,
I progressed.

A tunnel of hate
Dark and unforgiving;
I carried on.

Mountains of memories
Standing tall;
I shuffled onward.

A vast sea of guilt;
I sank.
For I cannot swim.
JR Rhine Oct 2016
My friends and I
are forlorn fabrics
haphazardly stitched into a quilt.

Comprised of different textures and fabrics,
frayed at the ends,
rejected pieces meant for the trash,
not good enough for made-to-wear mall clothes.

My friends and I
fit like a puzzle
consisting of pieces from various other puzzles--
found under coffee tables,
between couch cushions,
tossed into the bowels of forlorn toy bins--
forming a collage of something
disoriented and ambiguous.

Crammed together,
smashing our appendages,
leaving crooked gaps,
wrinkled, torn, ****** up,
but feeling better here
than in our small contribution
to the bland image of our factory's design.

My friends and I,
outcasts, rejects, punks,
convening in the junkyard heap
where we dance and laugh among trash
that makes us feel clean.
Pure when we're filthy.

Quilts and puzzles,
to instill and befuddle;
****** treasures.
Lunar Sep 2016
Scatter the glitters
onto the velvet sky;
I'll pull it over me
like a blanket,
Kiss in patterns
of a soft good night;
I'll embrace it.
Knowing your hands
made it to keep me
warm and safe;
Dreaming of you,
the Night-Quilt Maker,
to whom, my love I gave.
i love you every day,
and i love you more every night, wjh
2 am coffee rings on my bedside table
procrastination at the expense of a letter grade
Nana's hand-stitched quilt has never felt so soft
But her funeral hit me hard
That quilt draped over her coffin
matched the color scheme
of the one she made for a little girl
who love butterflies and spring time
I remember pool side juice boxes
stuffed animals from a pretty lady
she was nice to me
her mom was mean to her
she cried at the funeral
Nana was a better mother to her than
her own ever dared to be
her sister found cigarettes
shes so thin now
I remember her lipstick
its always been red
it looks so red on her skin
the color of the ash
that falls from her stick
matching the skin of Papa
Nana's son
He sang at her funeral
He cried the whole time
Everyone cried
Not me
but I cant cry
Jade Green words
she read them
spotty reading with bad rehearsal
but I remember
her and I and him and my brother
juice boxes
that pool
its all her
I wish I had known her well enough
to miss her
My Nana's funeral was today. Her quilt is still in my room. She made us a few. It means a lot more now that im out of chances to thank her for it.
Nothing Much Jan 2015
I thought a quilt would make a good gift
Something to keep you warm on these frigid wintry days
Something to keep you warm since I could not

So I unfolded scraps and remnants of our past
And laid them out on the floor
Piecing together parts of you and I

I found a needle and thread
And carefully stitched together the patchwork story of us
Until I had a blanket big enough for us both
I deleted this by mistake. I didn't have my saved anywhere so I had to try to rewrite it from memory.

— The End —