Stitches


I'm like this because of people like you
People who create wounds but quiver
when it's time to stitch them up
People who break promises and cause slits on wrists
But say society is the one who's corrupt
I'm like this because people can't let a flower just be a flower
We have to yank it from the ground before it can blossom
We have to pluck the petals until we believe that something beautiful
Can belong in a world like this
And by that time, there's nothing left
You ask me why I've turned cold
I've turned cold because ice can't melt if you live in a freezer
And every time I tried to create a flame, rain ended up pouring down
You ask me why I've let myself become cold
I've let myself become cold
Because cold is the only thing people don't want
I gave my flame to every person who needed warmth
But sooner or later, every fire pit extinguishes
And sooner or later
The people who had their arms extended for the warmth you provided
Leave
You ask me what happened
What happened is I gave every person who needed love and warmth
A bit of the flame that kept me alive

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This Poems Story

When I wrote this poem, I was angry. I felt the need to blame the world for all my problems. I had felt robbed from all the love I had given and hadn't gotten back. I still do. But now I realize that it's a part of life . . . that nothing I did could've prevented being hurt. The stitches symbolize the love I craved. I now realize that love never left me. It was always around me. Love was my sister Sadie and my mom. Love was both my dad and stepdad. Love never left. I just thought it did.