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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Serging through life, I whipstitch, weft, and welt, But always, my thoughts are pick-threading. As stippled patches of emotion rise and fall in me, See me, feel me, touch me, heal me Just too many scars. The mindless mind stresses itself through mental snares, I waste away beneath it all, piecing and pondering. Where the struggling soul and pleating body meet, I seek significance in life’s lucid-lined layers. Confronting my inner fears as an owneress, Time leaves its cursed mark in starched stitches that cut. Each moment experienced is like a closing zipper, My calm exterior ridges are often rough, ready, and ruffled. A life full of scars. While unique experiences blend like transient ombre shades My essence feels like a needled complex knit. Memories form patterns from life’s four-patches Challenges scissors cut are like shredded sharp diamonds. Yet more paths diverge along life’s shifting chevrons I strive to fit somehow; this square is what I do. Yet my world stands out like tri-recs blocks Creating stars and pineapples to fight fifty-four forty. Scars that are hidden and visible, surface and deep. Like trapezoids, I sense those oblong obstacles loom Worth or less by my own limited gauge, I measure. I pray each day new chapters begin casting on While others exhaust, reaching their bind-offs. I do seek a pattern master, and I need to pray for one. I contemplate constantly along selvages of thoughts. They hang like dangling tails… I start to visualize my purpose slowly seaming. Look as I whipstitch, weft, and welt through life, serging. As I graciously and sagaciously test life’s many swatches, I devote my life to the Master Seamster the… Healer of scars.
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