this is not what i wanted it to be

the title isn’t a title but rather a description, and i honestly have no idea what any of this means.

there is a dress i have made to hide my flaws
and faults, full of colors on which
i’ve learned not to rely. i have felt your fingers
brush its pattern with a patter of distaste,
a drum i cannot feel across my waist
even though your arm is tightened softly.

i never claimed to be a perfect person
with perfect pieces all tactfully
put in place. i am a mismatched
attempt at pouring myself into a
stitched mess of more than pure fabric
i never claimed enough creativity
to turn this into something i’d call art,
though i can still dance for two, if you’d let me-
but i’d rather love to join you where you are.

there is a dress of darker hues,
grays that shimmer, and black. i am
having it made, sophisticated
and safely wrought stitches. i do not
have time to teach myself, because you
barely left me with one hand on our clocks.
all that i’m using is borrowed from you, anyway.

i will wade into your proverbial styx
and learn, as i suspected, that
black silk does not grant but rather
steals the gift of sight. but if i imagine
your arms guiding me from the cold,
and saving me from the light, i think
you’d come. to feel you lovingly caressing
all my well worked flaws,
not all would be for naught.

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One thought on “this is not what i wanted it to be

  1. Part of the poem seems to speak of dealing with one’s own flaws and then having them exposed by another…still working on other parts of the poem. ;-)

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