Cynthia Jean Aug 2017

Faith made perfect
Those golden threads of Love
through our days
of joys
and sorrows.

Cynthia Jean


Our life is a tapestry, and nothing is ever wasted.

Truth is the word
That we’ve always
Onto my pillow

But instead
It’s that I’ve never had
Enough knowhow
To sew my

Secrets anywhere
Except the
Soft, pin-cushiony
Pink of my lips

It is always you
With truth shears in
The hand you’re always

That sets them
To fly and
Find light

Your work on
Our tapestry
With little fingers
And quiet tenderness

That many
Will never

Your vision
Of our bigger picture
Unravels before me

Making more sense
With Every stitch

When I leave my
In places so

You help me
Pull strings
To drag me back
To myself

You remind me
That my fabric is
Fragile and

But never to fear
Cutting away
What no longer

Being Raggedy Ann
Always comes with
Its share
Of loose threads

And I’m forever

That you
Tie them,
Hands un-judging

In knots
As intricate
And beautiful
As your soul.

Afiqah Feb 2017

it was, supposedly,
told before
how foolishly damned it has been
they constantly kept racing
knocking down onto little stubs of candles
how can we deal with such
visitation that now lives deep
within under
I think it’ll be years
before I’m done untwisting these threads
come to a crippled loop
over again


Tay Dec 2016

The closer to christmas the more chaos
We get wrapped up in making treats and buying gifts and watching movies

We wish the days would  fly faster and get to the 25
but each day belongs to be treasured and not be rushed and thrown away
And strewn across the floor forever forgotten *
And by the time you try to remember a detail of the day
It is gone in a  wise since you rushed through it not caring about the *details or the small things
Time is precious like fine china but weaves a web finer than human eye *can see
Don't let it slip through your fingers for the dice our rolled the moves are played
The people are moved coming closer to the end
*Don't rush through life in hustle and bustle for enjoying the small things *in life are truly pleasures *

I realized I myself do this sometimes.
But I need to sit back and relax and enjoy life and it's pleasures.
Devin Lawrence May 2016

How can it be
that you can have everything
and still want more?
Am I greedy when I ask
"is there anything else?"

How can it be
that the ties of friendship
can be undone?
Are they not elastic?
Aren't they impervious
to the ever-shifting sands of time
that weather meeker men
down to disassociated
piles of dust?

How can it be
that you can plant roots
that spread and intertwine themselves,
seemingly immune to any upward motion,
just to pluck them from the ground
that nurtured them for years
and place them somewhere
unlike anything they've ever known?

How can it be
that the world can hold so many secrets
and yet our instincts tell us
to discover the truth?
No secret was ever discovered
by trusting a single source;
like the threads of a dream-catcher,
we entangle ourselves in multiple realms
to capture what we seek.

I don't know which face means more:
the smiling ones
that coax me into song, and folly,
and memories as precious as time,
or the one blemished with melancholy
as it stares back at me
knowing there's so much more.

How can it be
that we have an imagination
as wide as the universe,
and yet we never dare
to find the borders?

SamBee May 2016

Red and blue have been blasting through my door
roaring and romping a mighty chorus
stomping through my days
both dying to feel me up
I feel hardy when they love
but they are not mine to keep.

They come to me as scarves and scales
as patches to post over my bodies
and lay
muddy and weak
myself to be seen.
These colors flash secrets of superficiality
savor the feeling of severed psyche
with puzzlingly pieced anatomy.

Blue boiling with my boyhood
my mind over smooth shoulders swells.
I stand beside my dad - his sharp eyes teach me
the game of absorption and receiving.

His eyes trap a moment
hold it up by its collar
(look dad, no hands!)
shake loose
collecting hidden tokens
flipping them in his fingers
a trophy of bladed knowledge.

But my father is color blind.
He does not know which threads to cut
when I plead
help me detangle

Lady Bird May 2015

they linger tease and deride
tugging and pulling at my heart
the pieces may come apart
sometimes they don't transpire
yet they keep me ......
my creative thoughts......
    Hang on threads
        In my brain
          Nagging  just annoying me
             Knotting and tangling up
                In tight knots causing
                  Normal feelings that got me
                     Going insane.....
                               ......nope not me ....
                                        .... I'm Just....

Nena Twedell May 2015

We held hands in the dark
When we couldn’t find another hand to hold
We sewed them together so if we ever got lost we would know that we’d never be alone
Watched the stars and the moon play peek a boo with the clouds
And we danced in the rain
Because we knew that together we were safe from the world
Each taking turns shielding each others hearts from the pain of the outside
Building walls of protection piece by piece
Promising each other the sun will rise soon
Just be patient
Because night can only last for so many days
But the stitches in our hands grew lose
And roots of bitterness grew in our hearts
And nothing seemed to be perfect anymore
As we tried to fix all the stitches at the top
The bottom ones began to fall
Threads began to fray
Leaving festering feelings of anger and hurt
We tried to ignore it all
Tried to keep it all together
But the bitterness and anger grew
Suffocating slowly
If we both died would it be joint suicide
Would it be a love story that would resemble Romeo and Juliet
Or would it be a homicide
Because we found the scabs that hurt the most
And pushed until we couldn’t go anymore
We held each other
While squeezing the others vulnerable heart
Until pieces slowly began to crack
As if we were boa constrictors squeezing their prey for the next meal
Yet never actually killing the prey
But letting it suffer breathe by breathe
Yet never letting it enjoy its last few moments of life
Broken promise and broken hearts
Pain written in the clouds above
The inevitable written in the stars
It’s time to rip the last of these stitches out as if they were band aids
Let these wounds have a chance to finally heal
It’s time to let the sun rise and to see what around the next bend in the road
Because our hearts won’t heal behind these walls
And our silent murders are getting out of hand
Wash the blood off your hands and say our good byes
Because this will be the last sip of poison that I will take

A Watoot Mar 2015

threads and needles;
hook and eye;
you and me.

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