Quilt and pecies

There are parts of me that
people stitch into colorful quilts
displaying them on ornamented shelves
that I throw into waste baskets
or to the arms of others
and I change –
with no warning or reason,
to fit my own cruel
psychological mold
and I change
till I am no long myself,
and now I no longer weave those
parts of myself into quilts
nor do i place them on shelves
because no one wants to
look at pieces.

Reviews

[Cicera]

This poem maybe touches on the dilemma-that some live more than others-between defining oneself and defining the self according to others. Since two are essential two sides of identity, one can virtually find himself in war when a problem occurs with either side.

I like quilts that people make by collecting different colourful parts. If this chromatic diversity should mean something it is generosity in character and a certain openness and tolerance it reflects that most so-called men of integrity don't have.

No one can perfectly divine exactly how a picture reflects the soul of a speaker without some chance and help of some similar experiences that both went through. The drive to write is generally what gives a piece of writing its real force.

I think also this poem has the character of a woven jersey, a blouse or a scarf that carries the personal stitch and style of the kneader but finally worn by someone else. It has that personal warmth that also makes other people happy.