I’ve never been great 

With a needle and thread

Sure, 

I can stick two pieces 

Of fabric together

A running stitch:

In, and out

I’ve fixed some things

A shirt, some slacks

But made them? 

Maybe once:

Age seven, 

I made a drawstring sack

Made of a thrifted fabric scrap -

Pretty pastel on white

My stitching was a little loose

Zig-zag, jagged, messy

Held together, sure

But not Sufficient

Not Great

Not Quick

Not Beautiful

[ Trying ]

A dream to be something complete

Always an unfinished project

Running    stitch– Ran       neat– Ran     still

It could be the brightest, sunniest day

Yet it always felt like it was raining

Dear page,

You used to be blank

an open canvas

Unwanted

flipped through

empty

You used to be a piece of paper

full of lines

Just like your many neighbors

You once were wordless

not a touch of ink to be felt

Compressed

void

evacuated

Posting a lack of interesting matter

displaying boring

and emptiness instead

Sitting there tamed

Looking normal as can be

But it turns out that this person

Is anything but happy and free

A beautiful, warming, blinding light

Though it is blocked out 

By viscous dark clouds

And innocent moonlight

Standing still in plain sight

a solemn figure waits to aflight

All the while sitting beside me

their eyes flicker -

such a dazzling light

May I will understand one day

of that magical land so far away

Holding no such thing as nightmares at night

replacing sadness with the happiest feeling

you've never felt it, not quite

I watch their eyes in a faraway sight

as their soul drift up into the moon light

For I will never forget that day

in which I watched one's soul

peacefully drift away