Oh how relaxing embroidering is.
Each strand of thread seems to find its place.
Ever so slowly,
Ever so strategically,
Within a picture larger than its sums.
You pull the needle through,
One stitch at a time.
Learning new patterns along the way.
The French Knot.
The Back Stitch.
The Running Stitch.
They become new friends in your creation.
You fade into each movement,
Making your fingers nimble
With the words you cannot speak.
Your red hands are dimming to grey.
They smolder into silence.
Until there is nothing left
But empty spools
And something beautiful.
...
But my hands are shaking
Yes
My hands are shaking
Ouch
Ouch
The white thread has turned to ruby
I tremble
Because the fire in my hands
Is refusing to dim
I force the needle through the fabric
But it refuses to go
It's tangled
It's all so tangled
My stiff fingers don't know what to do
With this knotted mass
Of loud colors
I broke my needle
Dear God
I've broken my needle
And now there is no movement
At all
Embroidery is fun
Yes
Embroidery is so much fun
As the tight thread
Eats into my skin
Ha
Ha
The fabric is laughing at me
Ha
Ha
Laughing at me
Because there is no needle to stick it with
Oh but how it neglected
The thought
The very possibility
Of scissors
YOU ARE READING
A Collection of Thoughts
PoetryA collection of mostly free verse poems and short stories. Sometimes it is nice to simply clear your head. *Trigger warnings: descriptions of disturbing themes such as: body horror, death, interactions with the uncanny, topics in biology, and suici...
