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.

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

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.

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.

My life is a series of dashes dreams
Sewing up patches
To have them ripped at the seams