Clothed
We were cut from the same cloth
But they don’t make that material anymore
The scissors are dull and there are rips in my hem
The stitching is frayed and it leaves me looking worn. Tattered patches keep my heart from falling out of my chest.The thread to thin to bare the weight of my sins.
I place my hands in my pocket and only find holes where your promises use to lay.
Petals from a dying flower I grasp as I pull my hands from where our secrets stay.
The holes in my jeans show my skin and all the scars of life.They make me who I am
A piece of linen draped over a soul to shield it from the pain. A sewing needle and some time
Will make this heart whole, yet no amount of thread can change the past,when I decided to love you at last.