I see through your disguise.
Past your flimsy applique.
To your patchwork riddled,
bursting, barely seemed,
thimble-walled eyes.
I can see how they leak.
I know that they are frayed.
Like the camel-haired thread.
I know that you\'re fed up
with all of this fluff
and you\'re afraid
of what comes up ahead.
I was, and often still am.
But even a quilt is
riddled with stitches, and
the stitches are what
Holds all of it
together. I see your scars.
I see your stitches.