Sew Your Own Song

...just read it? if you don't get it, you don't get it. that's okay(:

December 23rd, 2009

Things change all the time.
Sometimes changes can send people to their knees in agonizing sobs, whilst others make us shriek in glee and shock.
I suppose things just work in special ways like that.
Shouldn’t we get a say in the fate that is woven for us? Shouldn’t we be able to hold the needle that guides the thread of our decisions?
Why are we not permitted to make our own conscious pattern in the rainbowed fabric that will one day be pulled over our raw and pleading eyes?
And when that sharp and silky cloth is tied around our pounding heads, will we not cry to see the many missed stitches that interrupt the peaceful dark of our slumber; won’t we scream as we see the many mistakes that we tried so hard to cover with sparkly threads and pretty buttons, gasp when we realize that those snares from rose’s thorn were never quite healed?
Yes, we probably will.
And even in our last moments"whether they’re desperate or accepting"we may try to hide those glitches, or else we’d just close our eyes and pretend those distractions in our rest do not exist and be content with that.
But that is only some.
Others will merely smile or sigh when they remember the mistakes and what they learned, if anything. As their bloodshot eyes drift close, they wonder what would have happened had they chosen a different thread, a different needle, and decide things turned out pretty damn good anyway.
Our lives are spread out before us in a collage of pain and laughs, broken dreams and wishes come true, but some can not see the gruesome beauty of this cloak.
They are stifled behind a blank mask with veiled eyes and no way in which to breath. They suffocate behind plastered smiles and painted cheeks and when they’re gasping for sweet air is when they drop on of the roses that they carry as hopes and dreams and that is when that glistening thorns rip the carefully woven cloth.
So maybe, just maybe, the missed stitches in our lives aren’t our fault.
Could it be that the one who stuffed the mask, so cold, burning your lips and cheeks, over your screaming mouth, stifling you like a dirty rag to a kidnapping victim, is the reason why you sob so hysterically in your last moments?
They will say of course not, you could have taken the mask off. But oh, the shame of removing that face; they would only trip you anyway: all the more missed colors.
Take off the mask and take a deep breath; it’s the greatest pleasure you’ll ever know. Be real and full to the brim with missed stitches and imperfections.
Cause things change and that’s life, right?





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Author's Note

i make up words. just a warning(:

Reviews

[brenda]

i lik this chapter it is really well expressed lol you should hear me speak in spainsh i make up words all the time but i am really good at it !:)

[Numb]

First off, I loved the title! :D
Personally, I loved the image I got in my head as I was reading. You seem to be quite good at imagery, claps for you!
It was a great way to look at... Well, I can't quite describe what it was the reader was looking at. But that doesn't mean I didn't get it... I think I just contradicted myself... Maybe.
~N~