By Alanna Magstadt
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When our ships fall broken and beaten at the harbor, who will pull us from the water before the storm rolls in?
Who will it be? Because it won’t be me.
I have been stitching myself back together, piece by piece, trying to become whole again.
I was whole,
For a time. Back when I didn’t listen or give way to the objectors of society.
Since then, I have been ripped and torn into shreds upon shreds.
I never deserved the wholeness I had, and I only excelled because I had been whole.
I did not earn my stripes.
My shreds became smaller and harder to see until I was no longer there anymore. I was simply nonexistent.
But I stumbled upon some thread.
And I found that needle buried in the haystack to weave in and out of my various fabrics.
I am still mending the tapestry. I have added some new colors, too.
I am closing my ears and letting the waves carry me to shore as I patch up my lifeline.
Who will give me clarity when my waters have been tainted?
Who will keep me warm when I am torn to pieces?
Do not pity me.
Do not adore me.
Do not need me.
You can comfort me, but please,
Do not hurt me.
There is only so much wind my sails can take, only so many shreds I can become before I find myself drowning underneath the weight of my own ripped tapestries.
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