The Seamstress2 mins 195 2 mins 195
My mother always complained
About how I couldn't sew
"Everyone's supposed to know this.
It's a survival tool"
She'd yell through the hallway.
I'd try and try.
To pierce a thread through the needle.
I'd be worked up by the thought of this tiny thing
Challenging me like my mother.
I felt like the thread I'd force in.
Ain't I a thread?
Forcing myself through tiny openings
Of someone else's dreams and perceptions?
I'd push myself even when I didn't need to
As time passed,
I mastered the art of fitting in
Even if I didn't want to
I was told it was necessary.
Because that's how I'd learn
To stitch back tapestries I never shredded.
To stitch back my buttons that were pushed too hard
To stitch back a hole in time that saved nine
They never told me
That I'd be patching someone else's mistake
Someone else's scar
On my flesh.
And I'd live with those hideous marks
And probably take them to my grave with my bones.
I'm glad Aurora got pricked
And slept through bullshit
But was awoken only to marry some dork
Aren't we like her in a way?
'cause as soon as the spell breaks
We rush to find someone else instead of ourselves
Learning to love someone else before we could truly love ourselves
Accepting others before embracing ourselves.
Nevertheless,I'm delighted to have learnt sewing
Over the years I've stitched various linens.
Of my own and others
Including the one that drapes my heart.
I have sewed it over and over.
Everytime it was torn;
With colorful threads.
To make it look attractive
For the next heart-shredder and a heartache.
My mother calls me a seamstress queen now
For I can be torn in million pieces,
But I can sew myself whole through the pain.