Stitches

“Broken girls evolve into unstoppable women.” — r.h. Sin

It’s hard to continue sewing once you notice the flaw in the pattern.

After one too many wrong turns you recognize the mismatched signs.

You question everything you have ever said; every whisper to the wind seems haunting now.

You wonder why you did what you did and for that many years.

The scenarios loop in your mind endlessly— without sound, just static.

Down to the smallest of details they play… the lighting, the laughter, the sensations left on your skin…

The last time you locked eyes; theirs now burnt into the back of your mind.

It’s funny how no one knows when the end will be.

It keeps you up at night. Those what ifs and how comes…

The sorrow bubbles up and sticks in your throat.

You start putting even strangers’ best interests before your own.

“If they didn’t care about me, why should I?”

What was real? What was an illusion?

It’s easier to stay secluded in your dark thoughts.

Because everything you’ve put out in the open came back to hit you in the face.

Remove the mask and crawl into bed alone.

You still sleep to one side as if the other will be filled again with the weight of another body.

Every feeling of security, false.

Every thought of ‘forever’, shattered.

By now everything has unravelled.

And you know everyone can see right through you.

They sense the brokenness.

And prey on your vulnerability.

They say the right things to take advantage.

And for a fleeting moment you feel whole again.

Only to wind up feeling ten feet under within a few hours.

The ups and downs are exhausting. But what else can busy your mind quite like this?

It’s been many days and you’ve lost count.

A song triggers a memory of a time that occurred long before this pain.

Your heart skips a beat as you slowly roll out of bed— you’re not sure what day it is, or how late in the day…

The loneliness is still there, but there is something new in the air.

You feel it all around you, as though someone has hit the reset button.

A blank journal is waiting to be filled with all the scribbles and doodles your mind can conjure up.

You remember the tattoo on your wrist and smile.

You pick up the needle and you start to create a new pattern… this one more beautiful than the last.

Say hello to my port, that’s how far it sticks out on my thin chest…