My body is a patchwork of all the times I’ve sewn myself back together.
You came along with a seam ripper, needles, and an old sewing machine.
I thought you would use them to gently return me to my original design.
I thought you would make me whole again, as a sort of seamstress savior.
But you didn’t have those supplies prepared to mend me or even yourself.
Even when I found out the truth, I trusted you to fix my tattered fabric.
You cinched and pinned me into a shape I didn’t recognize anymore.
You ripped out my stitches, and started sewing a new jacket for your size.
When I told you it hurt, you didn’t seem to care. You ignored my pleas.
When I’d finally had enough, I ran from your cruel redesign of my identity.
My new shape wasn’t designed to run, an intentional choice on your part.
You came and found me stumbling in the cold, and took me back home.
I escaped your carefully made sewing room again and again, only to return.
I took me months to cut the long trail of threads leading you straight to me.
With the last thread snipped, I escaped for the final time. I was finally free.
But I was not the same quilt as when I met you. I was a quilted jacket now.
I was only meant to keep someone warm. Only meant to keep you warm.
Now that I was on my own, I thought I needed to find another wearer.
I tried finding someone else to use the coat that you had turned me into.
But none of them fit right because you tailored me to your measurements.
Making a new me to suit you was never even more than a hobby to you.
The task of remaking my entire identity back into a quilt falls on me now.
I dated you to fix my mismatched patches only to learn I must fix myself.
All that pain. All that trauma and abuse. And I still don’t know how to sew.

If I ruled the world, I would be,
Not a benevolent leader, nor,
Would I be a tyrannical leader.

I would be something much unexpected and, hopefully, humble.

You see, I would be a quilt maker. Not of fabric and thread, though.
I would stitch the different cultures together, leaving each individual one unique, yet united by a common thread.

I would sit with my diplomatic needle and peaceful stitching and lead those whom hold contempt for one another see the other's perspective.

I would show them that,
The world isn't in black and white,
It's in full, high-definition color.
So let's celebrate unity,
Equality,
Individuality,
And uniqueness.

Because in the final chapter,
We all already rule the world.
It's up to us to thread ourselves to each other,
Or pull ourselves apart by the seams.