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Rated: 18+ · Poetry · Experience · #2154831
April 8th - NaPoWriMo

An embroidery basket full of
various threads of every imaginable hue.
Too long untended. Odd threads pulled here and there.
Snippets cut too short, too soon.
Others knotted together-tying friendships, family
yet some just knotted --more noose than Celtic.

Blood reds bleed
fading to rust, a frayed jumble
scared to lie flat.
Blacks grey under poor lighting,
colored by spilled vodka and dreams,
muddling to blanched and shriveled
coffee browns--grounds for dismissal.

She embroidered words, worlds
but now she's run out of threads to pull.
Life is full of snags; snarls of frustration
lead to distempered yanks of yarn which only serves
to pull tighter still the threads that need to be cut.
Dyslexic jumble of letters formed in disjointed haze,
poisoned thorns seek to rip and tear both thread and cloth.

Sometimes, you need to start over. Cut your losses.
Fresh white piece of cloth. New mindsets of rainbow
threads. Clear vision of what life design can be.
Dreams tempered by reality, a wash of patience. Rings
circle-- woven and stiched with care, determination:
this time she wants the tapestry to tell the whole story.
No fairy tale now but wants the warp and weave
straight and true. The very words to sing in triumph.

Organized basket. She excells at organizing others,
learning she can detangle herself. Be straight. Colors
blooming in the sunlight,
across the cloth,
beyond the page ...
One stitch at a time.

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