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#crochet
I'm busy on break Mind is at stake Endless work and anxiety from school Making myself a fool To do hobbies to be burned out Continuous counting about My stitches Constantly looking if my art needs any stitches To bring it all together Just to put it in the corner over there Just so no one can see my drawings I'm too busy on break My wrists need a long break Yet I can't pull away, it just feels so magnetic I feel so hectic I can never catch a single break because of myself Just so I can put items on the shelf Waiting to sell out I want- no- yearn for a break Yet I'm always busy on my week long breaks Taking care of things left and right It feels as if I can barely see the light I hate it Dealing with everyone's **** Is this really the consequences of having a job? Where I'm being renamed as Bob? To the point where I'm so tired that I need to move every second so I can get untired? I'm so ******* exhausted It feels like I just got deported Just tie me onto a bed Make dreams go to my head Make me go into a deep slumber Now I don't have to cut timber Make my muscles relax Just so I can relax Just so I can remove my eye bags Get all the hot rags And put them on my forehead Whenever I'm in bed So this sickness will go away Just so everything can go away Remove all the stress on my shoulders And place them ontop of boulders See if the boulders would break because of how much weight there would be
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Nov 24, 2024
Nov 24, 2024 at 2:35 AM UTC
Busy on Break
I know how to party, On Friday nights, I have crocheting, you see, A stash of yarn, and coffee, I'd say that's quite a party, Hope all the crafters agree!
0
Aug 14, 2021
Aug 14, 2021 at 5:59 PM UTC
QUITE A PARTY!
i’m crocheting a little friend a stingray out of teal and white yarn i am spinning him he is tighly woven and thinly drawn and his eyes are stitched of black yarn woven into sloppy crosses i don’t know if i’ll keep my little friend once he is complete he is something that should be given away to someone who needs his soft company more than i i could make a thousand stingrays once i understand the pattern but in giving him away he would be someone’s only stingray and i think everyone should have a soft tightly wound sea creature at least once in their lives
0
Jan 19, 2020
Jan 19, 2020 at 12:21 AM UTC
crocheted friend
the process of crocheting an afghan is about just that the process you make an afghan looking forward to the nights you will curl up under it and relishing the way it fits over your legs when it's halfway finished or thinking and hoping how much someone you love will love and appreciate your gift of time and callouses weaving a container for whatever emotions you need contained i realized this that first winter deep in february when i began my long nights of scrap yarn desperately trying to piece something together out of the not knowing why i told myself that this was it the sum total of my works the item they would fold up and place on the table next to the jar of my ashes come september and it was done by march a slow and roundabout way of pushing myself through the suicidal smog smeared through my mind my friends had blankets wrapped around them that bright morning of the anniversary we all cried together my tears falling on my afghan i made them each an afghan plus a few more always pushing myself to look forward lost count of how much yarn i used how many stitches passed through my hands but by the time the next march came around i had made or charted out five more to fill the void clawing at my insides spent a year making myself another in tight ripples of time and television and now my fingers slow and stop seven afghans in two years is an accomplishment that might send the head of even the highest caliber of grandma spinning i have no more afghans left in me to make so instead i crawl down into bed two i made two from friends and one from my mother and lie head pounding eyes puffy void of energy in the space between my afghans
0
Apr 20, 2018
Apr 20, 2018 at 10:07 AM UTC
between afghans
the process of crocheting an afghan is about just that the process you make an afghan looking forward to the nights you will curl up under it and relishing the way it fits over your legs when it's halfway finished or thinking and hoping how much someone you love will love and appreciate your gift of time and callouses weaving a container for whatever emotions you need contained i realized this that first winter deep in february when i began my long nights of scrap yarn desperately trying to piece something together out of the not knowing why i told myself that this was it the sum total of my works the item they would fold up and place on the table next to the jar of my ashes come september and it was done by march a slow and roundabout way of pushing myself through the suicidal smog smeared through my mind my friends had blankets wrapped around them that bright morning of the anniversary we all cried together my tears falling on my afghan i made them each an afghan plus a few more always pushing myself to look forward lost count of how much yarn i used how many stitches passed through my hands but by the time the next march came around i had made or charted out five more to fill the void clawing at my insides spent a year making myself another in tight ripples of time and television and now my fingers slow and stop seven afghans in two years is an accomplishment that might send the head of even the highest caliber of grandma spinning i have no more afghans left in me to make so instead i crawl down into bed two i made two from friends and one from my mother and lie head pounding eyes puffy void of energy in the space between my afghans
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77
it looks like a striped afghan but now i'm on the fourth or so to me it's just another set of nights i'm in stitches wound and pulled to hold me together three seasons of hogan's heroes the first season of mash (twice) hair bleached plus the dog and three cats several candles i'm trying to keep it together but it's hard because every day is more of why i can't get it together pull the string of emotions together and let the obsessive paranoia continue i don't cry i stitch.
0
Jan 17, 2017
Jan 17, 2017 at 10:46 PM UTC
stitch
lonely autumn nights blisters and calluses forming on my stiff cold hands *(pure cotton is forgiving of hasty tendencies or picky forms)* wrapped and wound tightly around my fingers every loop an attempt at controlling chaos *(thinking about how i'm not an outcast and i never was)* i'm the shoe in the pair that is slightly too tight on the one foot that's a bit larger than the other or the shirt that you keep wearing for years because it fits but you don't really like it i am the paint on your windowframe that's just fine except for the white flecks it left on the glass *(i've never been an outcast i've always been different?)* i don't like to say i'm different because we're all different i was just different enough to be a slight nuisance or distraction **i apologize too much for what's not my fault and too little for what i should take ownership of** *(something about my personality maybe just misplaced anxiety dictates that all things must be stacked and aligned perfectly.)*
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Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 1:09 AM UTC
tight cotton night
It turned cold quickly Almost skipping Autumn Reluctant to wear a jacket Or a hat, or gloves Too distant for my arms To keep him warm against my chest He said he never wore a scarf But if he did, he would go Dr. Who style I had to laugh as i looked up the reference Fifteen feet of mismatched stripes Maybe not the stripes, he said I happened upon a huge skein of yarn It felt like a warm blanket in the oddest, Most interesting colors Manly, neutral, and perfect for Fall So i crocheted a scarf and pictured him warm The pattern in those colors was a mess I chuckled at why they would make such an ugly pattern I crocheted every stitch with love Through arthritic hands that felt no pain I crocheted a scarf, stopping only when it dragged the floor when i put it on Two feet short, but ridiculously long I bordered it in shades of green to match Not realizing it was variegated into Brown's and maroons along the way But it matched the odd mix of colors And finally made it almost pretty to me I covered myself in perfume And put it around my neck As I turned I caught a glimpse in the mirror It wasn't a horrible amalgamation of hideous colors It was camouflage, with a matching border I laughed so hard, and felt so bad My hillbilly in camouflage Wearing a scarf way too long Maybe he would hate it Maybe he won't wear it I knew better So, I packed up his bag of gifts And sent it to the frozen mountains He never wore a scarf He opened it and put it on It smells like You, he said in blssful remembrances It's definitely camouflage, he laughed It's perfect baby, I'll wear it whenever it's cold And in the picture he sent I saw its beauty It wasn't in the patterns of crisscrossing colors It wasn't in the accidental way The border perfectly complimented the body It wasn't in the fact that he would be able To wrap himself up in me to stay warm It was in that picture It was the joy that filled his smile It was in his eyes that danced in love It was in the fact that he believes Because i made it, it's perfect Yes, i accidentally crocheted a thirteen foot camouflage scarf And he loves that I can keep him warm.
0
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 4:23 AM UTC
To Keep Him Warm
It turned cold quickly Almost skipping Autumn Reluctant to wear a jacket Or a hat, or gloves Too distant for my arms To keep him warm against my chest He said he never wore a scarf But if he did, he would go Dr. Who style I had to laugh as i looked up the reference Fifteen feet of mismatched stripes Maybe not the stripes, he said I happened upon a huge skein of yarn It felt like a warm blanket in the oddest, Most interesting colors Manly, neutral, and perfect for Fall So i crocheted a scarf and pictured him warm The pattern in those colors was a mess I chuckled at why they would make such an ugly pattern I crocheted every stitch with love Through arthritic hands that felt no pain I crocheted a scarf, stopping only when it dragged the floor when i put it on Two feet short, but ridiculously long I bordered it in shades of green to match Not realizing it was variegated into Brown's and maroons along the way But it matched the odd mix of colors And finally made it almost pretty to me I covered myself in perfume And put it around my neck As I turned I caught a glimpse in the mirror It wasn't a horrible amalgamation of hideous colors It was camouflage, with a matching border I laughed so hard, and felt so bad My hillbilly in camouflage Wearing a scarf way too long Maybe he would hate it Maybe he won't wear it I knew better So, I packed up his bag of gifts And sent it to the frozen mountains He never wore a scarf He opened it and put it on It smells like You, he said in blssful remembrances It's definitely camouflage, he laughed It's perfect baby, I'll wear it whenever it's cold And in the picture he sent I saw its beauty It wasn't in the patterns of crisscrossing colors It wasn't in the accidental way The border perfectly complimented the body It wasn't in the fact that he would be able To wrap himself up in me to stay warm It was in that picture It was the joy that filled his smile It was in his eyes that danced in love It was in the fact that he believes Because i made it, it's perfect Yes, i accidentally crocheted a thirteen foot camouflage scarf And he loves that I can keep him warm.
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58
I wish that I could crochet in the bath. I would lie a board across the ledges, if I had one long enough As my fingers intertwined in the soft wool Little water droplets would settle Like frozen tears of glass. That would just be for a moment, before it grew heavy and sodden. I've read like that before, the pages have become crispy and smudged That shows love and warmth But wet wool seems cold and miserable. If I dropped a needle in the water it would become rusty, Useless and uncomfortable. I would crochet in the bath, but I don't think I could find a board long enough.
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Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 9:09 AM UTC
I Wish I Could Crochet In The Bath