Some Days
Some days, I suture myself together
When the seams of my personality
Seem to tear so swiftly from the tether,
The quilted rag of my identity.
Some days, I allow my woolen spindle
To unravel itself into string.
Downward and unrolling, it's mass dwindles
As gravity forces it's spiraling.
Some days, I untangle the knotted threads
That tie all my patches tightly in place,
Preferring that maybe this time instead
I could sow myself and happily trace
The stitch-work compiling the positive
Ways in which, I think, I would like to live.
poem by Tim Stensloff
Added by Poetry Lover
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