4 views
If History dictates- I won't Fix it.
My quilt is torn in certain places
Has been for a while
I ignore the loose string and showings of stuffing
Ignore the sound of fabric ripping when my foot catches on it
Ignore the slight discomfort when the tattered parts pass over my bare skin
It's fine.
Fine as it is, it's just a blanket, it keeps my body warm as it's meant to
There's no need to grab my sewing kit.
I'm not attached to this quilt
No sentiment gained through the years
Not gifted by a loved one
Not made with special care
Just bought, and used
As you do with menial objects
-
-
-
Never has my vision rested on this quilt with thoughts of adoration
Never have I soaked my tears in its cloth
Never has my mind made it more then what it is- a quilt.
So why-
Why when my heart is curdling, my thoughts running blank, when my energy is too focused on the squeezing feeling in my chest and the increasing frequency of my breaths
Do I look at this matted material
Look at this blanket, at the rips and tears-
Why am I crying!?
Still, not a bone in me wishes to fix it
To sew it up and be done with this unjustified emotional discord
I'm not tempted to rip it to shreds-
Or to hold it to my chest as I wheeze and drain myself dry
I don't wish to tenderly trace the parts that make it wrong, claiming for them to not exist- or worse, judge them to make the quilt better or quirky
I just cry...
|
I'm still crying, feeling only saddness
Not having the wits about me to discern the more probable causes of this shattered feeling gushing about inside of me
Not sparing the effort to put a reason to the tiredness of my eyes
I just cry for the state of the quilt
Cry for its inability to mend itself
For its unlucky state to be owned by an uncaring party, thoughtless and unfeeling
Cry for the decline of my mental health
Leaving me to be reduced to a sputtering mess at the sight of something I look at
Every. Single. Night.
Gritting my teeth as I become reaware of the consistency of my nature
My actions.
My leniency.
My carelessness.
...
I'm broken, aren't I?
© Marah Schneider
Has been for a while
I ignore the loose string and showings of stuffing
Ignore the sound of fabric ripping when my foot catches on it
Ignore the slight discomfort when the tattered parts pass over my bare skin
It's fine.
Fine as it is, it's just a blanket, it keeps my body warm as it's meant to
There's no need to grab my sewing kit.
I'm not attached to this quilt
No sentiment gained through the years
Not gifted by a loved one
Not made with special care
Just bought, and used
As you do with menial objects
-
-
-
Never has my vision rested on this quilt with thoughts of adoration
Never have I soaked my tears in its cloth
Never has my mind made it more then what it is- a quilt.
So why-
Why when my heart is curdling, my thoughts running blank, when my energy is too focused on the squeezing feeling in my chest and the increasing frequency of my breaths
Do I look at this matted material
Look at this blanket, at the rips and tears-
Why am I crying!?
Still, not a bone in me wishes to fix it
To sew it up and be done with this unjustified emotional discord
I'm not tempted to rip it to shreds-
Or to hold it to my chest as I wheeze and drain myself dry
I don't wish to tenderly trace the parts that make it wrong, claiming for them to not exist- or worse, judge them to make the quilt better or quirky
I just cry...
|
I'm still crying, feeling only saddness
Not having the wits about me to discern the more probable causes of this shattered feeling gushing about inside of me
Not sparing the effort to put a reason to the tiredness of my eyes
I just cry for the state of the quilt
Cry for its inability to mend itself
For its unlucky state to be owned by an uncaring party, thoughtless and unfeeling
Cry for the decline of my mental health
Leaving me to be reduced to a sputtering mess at the sight of something I look at
Every. Single. Night.
Gritting my teeth as I become reaware of the consistency of my nature
My actions.
My leniency.
My carelessness.
...
I'm broken, aren't I?
© Marah Schneider
