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kat victoria Mar 2019
“life isn’t fair”
is what they keep telling me.
and they’re right.
it’s a cruel joke.
life gave you to me a thousand times
with every intention of ripping you away.
i kept trying to stitch us together,
make us one.
“no one can take you now.”

but the stitches ripped out
causing a wound that required surgery

no wonder i’m still hurting
Renn Powell Mar 2019
a needle
a spool of thread
you offered to sew me back together
you helped take the stitches out
of the wounds you made
Sehar Bajwa Feb 2019
i know what love is
love is pain.


love is handing them the knife to slash at your chains
but hoping they
don't stab you in
the back.


love is disappointment

it is waiting up for messages never sent
hoping someone remembers
to remember you.


Love is a word over spent
very seldom meant
its the arrow of Cupid that kills you.
its an emotion that disappears
after it catches you unaware
its the want not the need that fills you
both elixir and poison
the apocalypse in the horizon
the fear of the loss that thrills you.
the walls not the bridges
the cuts not the stitches
the fire and the thirst that wills you.
love just is.
Star BG Nov 2018
Knit one, word.
Pearl, a verse.
That’s what a poet weaver does.

Pen becomes needle,
to wrap around visions.
Periods slip markers,
giving writer pause.

Lyrics surface in mind
to cable cast upon poem.
Daisy stitch, field blossoms
within a poesy song.

And in deepen breath
weaver binds off
to end with love stitch, word...
Perhaps, giving reader chance
to Run Stitch with eyes
cross finished textured page.
We are all weavers creating lives for the soul. Some do it in the tapestry of a poetry. Others Weave inside their lives to manifest experiences. And some even weave, with paint to make a masterpiece as DaVinci did.
We are all expert weavers constructing a road of stitch like steps. Steps that with focus can lead to peace.
Anshara Jun 2018
I sit here wondering, thinking
What is it that we need to mend?
Wounds, gashes, broken bones?
What is it that we need to heal?
Hearts, people, their deep-rooted wounds?

I sit here wondering, thinking
It is the people or society
That needs sabing by us
I sit here wondering, thinking
Whether what we do will make a difference.

I take a walk around the room
Unable to completely concentrate
My eyes wander off to the side of the road
A beggar, kicked; scratches here wounds there
Whom should I stitch— the beggar or the kicker?

I decide to take a walk in the neighborhood
Mentally, making a list of people
A girl sitting on a park bench, crying
Maybe she's the one with a broken trust
And hearts are the hardest to stitch.

Come to think of it, it's easy to say
But breaking apart? You shouldn't know
A man being pushed around in the streets
A black is hard to be, when
You are surrounded by racists.

I see a girl walking alone; no one around
She keeps looking back, a little insecure
I look elsewhere, I'm no more than a passerby
Quickly she runs into a shop, afraid of me
I wonder was it something I did?

I wander into a lonely alley
Heaps and heaps of litter, a boy sitting, crying
On asking, he tells me, he was lonely
His family died; in a car accident
I think he's the one needing the most stitches.

Back on my armchair by the fireplace
I sip coffee and gaze at the fire
The secrets and demons inside us
Make us hollow; and just
Like a torn fabric, we'll be needing stitches.
Broken pivot
Endless fidget
Back and forth,
Back and forth
Back and-
Back and-
Back and-
twitch
Slam down
In and out
Purple thread
Through black ribbon
In and out,
Back and forth,
Thread snap
Little knife
To Cut the ties
And into skin,
Back and forth,
Thick blue lines
Hiding behind
Skin barely transparent
Needle goes in,
Out
Press the button
Up,
Down,
Hinges swinging
No control
Concentrate
Skin is fabric,
Black nylon
On peach vellum
In and out
As string appears
In dotted lines
Pinch to keep together
openings,
Eyes, lips, ears
A wound in a dress
Keep it together
A hole in the flesh,
Into a scar with time
The aches of a button-up
Dotted scarf
Black ribbon
Stitched together
Around the wrist
Josh Cheshier May 2018
Broken bones just being set, beginning to mend as I left home
Still getting to know the new parts of me, adjusting to, plates and screws holding on, bones still feel loose, cracked and used from all the distant memories and vast views cast from the rear view, pay attention now because this is your healing, these feelings are stitches in skin, patience, feeling the thread pull you together from within, wait now for there’s is no room for wearing thin
adira Feb 2018
everything seems so dark so sad
then i see your smile and my heart ***** its wings gladly
in a way i could like a leach
into joy i would reach
i live off of smiles
if i harvested none i would disapaer from all the worlds inches and miles
in my own ocean of tears
i dedicate my life so no one must be like me with a heart full of tares
only held together with thin fragile thread
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