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Loose Knit
by Michael R. Burch

She blesses the needle,
fetches fine red stitches,
criss-crossing, embroidering dreams
in the delicate fabric.

And if her hand jerks and twitches in puppet-like fits,
she tells herself
reality is not as threadbare as it seems ...

that a little more darning may gather loose seams.

She weaves an unraveling tapestry
of fatigue and remorse and pain; ...
only the nervously pecking needle
****** her to motion, again and again.

Published by The Chariton Review, Penumbra, Black Bear Review, and Triplopia. Keywords/Tags: Addiction, needle, veins, stitches, red, blood, ******, dreams, hallucinations, seams, darning, tapestry
Sumairupoetry Oct 2019
When you kiss my lips
my heart feels like it's unraveling at the seams,
and my emotions are exposed to you.

When you are done,
sew me up,
and do it all over again.
Anastasia Jun 2019
she was thinking again
about the seams in her legs
the stitches
and weeping.
it terrified her
the blood gushing out
torn skin
the flavor of pain
her eyes were locked open
and she stared at the seams
tears pouring from her sewed-open eyes
she sits on her pile of ashes
her blood mixing
making a muddy paste
that crusts on her eyelashes
her bruised cuts growing on her flesh
opening
and reopening
maggots gnawing on her body
eating the remnants of flesh
and she stares.
don't follow them
TD Jul 2018
Tattered quilt
textured patches
form a storyline
I hesitate to trace.

The sordid tales
unevenly sewn
binding or freeing
the choice is mine.

Silk and cotton
gingham hearts
satin overlay
my patterns reveal.

Sad days are bound
by crooked seams
playing hide and seek
where seekers always find
my peekaboo batting.

Happy days are simple.
Scars, stitches
hold satin warmth
bathed in beautiful..
imperfect but true.

I nestle in beneath
the crazy quilt work of a life
patterned after winding paths
and sleeping giants.
EtherealOmega Nov 2017
I've tailored so many suits,
Switching out mismatched buttons for shining brass,
And restoring fabric worn thin over years of well-loved use.

But I cannot tailor this traitorous skin to fit me right.
In some placed it's too lose,
In others too tight…
I cannot switch out the pieces of me I'd rather live without
For new pieces shining with pride.
There is no way to restore a body to what it should have been,
Or even to the simple majesty of what it once was.

Young and ignorant of its uneven seams.

I've hemmed ladies' skirts to the perfect lengths
So they no longer need to worry about tripping over the excess.
Hemmed them to show just the right amount of ankle
Or perhaps none at all..

But I cannot hem myself..

This excess emotion staining my voice denoted me as "she."
And I trip over my own voice that no longer fits in my mouth..
While gorgeous girls in gowns show off thin strips of themselves,
I am left trying to hide every piece of my skin.

This is why I have risked sunstroke in the dead of summer
Wearing a hoodie and jeans to keep me safe.
This is why swimming pools are often synonymous with nightmare.

I no longer know how to wear this body with pride.

So when they ask me when I knew I wasn't a girl…
I have to restrain my urge to laugh and cry all at once.
Because when do we know that something is not as perfect as we once thought..
Only once it has been shown to us and we've been told to fix it.

I wish I could go back to being ignorant of my uneven seams.
These uneven seams that I cannot rip out unless I want to bleed out.
These uneven seams that I will never be able to fix to perfection.

But maybe…
Slowly,
Ever so slowly,
We might be able to stretch the seams of this world.
So that no child has to learn to hate or fear
Their jagged edges
Their unhemmable spaces…






But I cannot be one of those children..
So I will use chemicals to hem my voice..
Readjust my buttons…
Stretch my seams…
I will find a seamster more experienced then I
To rip out these traitorous strings
And rearrange the fabric to a more seemly drape.

I will use new fabric to cover up the patterns I am no longer proud of…
The patterns that cloud my days…
I will mend my ways
Learning to live in a patchwork maze
Until my spirit can return to where it truly belongs
In a beautiful blaze.
- EPL 11/6/2017
Daniel Mashburn Jan 2017
I dug my nails into the dirt so I could tear the continents adrift to rid myself of the petty distances between us.

I kept pulling at the seams until the mountains started crumbling. Sweat drip, drip, dripping from my brow, but I'm still prying at the pieces.

Until at last I raised the oceans. High tide and high time, I pulled myself from the ocean floor.

If I let go, I would disappear.
There would be nothing left to keep me here.

I built castles made of sand and built them strong upon the shore. I laced in my fear of the ocean and of waters running cold

into the foundation and these walls; of these places I'd call my home, but can I really call it home when I'm feeling all alone?

Until at last I raised the oceans. High tide and high time, I pulled myself from the ocean floor.

If I let go, I would disappear.
There would be nothing left to keep me here.

We spit rhetoric in rhyme.
Who will save us this time?
There's nothing left to say;
I like it better this way.
Aditya Shankar Dec 2015
The universe behind your eyes bursts at the seams
And inside you hide in unnamed galaxies
You wish to speak of the wisdom of trees
You want to talk about the calm of seas
A momentary distraction is all you need
To turn the voices down, to live a silent dream
It fills up your mindscape with high-def imagery
A 42-inch flatscreen TV.
Palindrome poem #4
Once read, go from bottom to top
Silent Thoughts Jul 2014
My life is a series of dashes dreams
Sewing up patches
To have them ripped at the seams

— The End —