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The Seamstress.
I wrote of you,
stringing your reality
into abstract imagery,
for I thought you were my savior.
In the dark nights
filled with silent screams
I yearned for your solace.
I wrote of your great strength,
your courage,
compassion.
I fought to tenderly pluck the shreds of my humanity off the cold stones of
my destruction,
hoping you would release your thread
and mend them into one.
Once I had collected each piece
you were gone.
No seamstress to clothe
my vulnerable form.
You said you would be there,
waiting for the day I was
no longer damaged goods.
Yet the day is here,
and I wonder if you are
searching Good Will
for another tattered soul.
When I was broken
you wanted nothing more than
to rebuild my structure,
as a new light rose from my depths
you shielded your eyes and turned from me.
I offered shades
and you refused with an awkward smile.
Not your style.
Apparently nor am I.
I wrote of you.
When you were my only hope.
I let my guard down
and allowed dependence.
You loved me then,
when I was a disaster.
When I was inferior to you.
Now I am everything you said you wanted.
Even as the words left your lips
you crossed your fingers
like a cruel child.
You wanted me to fail,
so you could still be my
champion.
When I didn’t, you were surprised.
And bored.
What could you do with
a person who knew their way?
One who didn’t see you as
a goddess, but a girl playing dress up.
I took those shreds,
and though I failed home ec.
I strung them together with
a bitter determination.
And I made a shirt,
then trousers,
and finally a sweater.
I was no longer vulnerable.
No longer cold and in need
of your shelter.
Not because I didn’t want it,
but because you burned it down
without leaving a forwarding address.
I wrote of you as an ancient bard
would transcribe the adventures
of a fearless hero.
I adored you for what I thought you were.
I loved my idea of you,
but you were a snake with a purr
urging me to only listen.
I still love that idea, you know.
Sadly, that hero never took a breath.
I’m only angry
when I see you’re the reality.
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