Sweater Poorly Knit

New piece I worked on in my slam poetry/ spoken word class at Seattle U.

Give me the fibers of your heart

So that I may stitch them on my sweater.

Promises made in perfect lines of cloth sewn together, as children we all sow the same patchworks on our sleeves so that others can look and say that they know who we are and how we've loved

They call us bleeding hearts because they can see the red lines on our sweaters stretching down to the frayed ends of our sleeves.

We wear the sleeves because we think we have to.

 

Everyone knows that white stains the easiest.

 

Our sweaters hold the threads of hearts--red blood from our dried out pumps that no longer live, they showcase --

The empty case they've become that holds nothing--

useless waste of space etched upon cloth, and raised up on pedestals on our arms.

 

I used to sow my heart there on that stitched shelf where it seemed to fit so beautifully,

Yet in time I found it grew larger and smarter than the others --edging itself off

And I grew tired of sowing on a new line for it to sit upon

Placed my needle down somewhere and forgot where it lay.

 

My heart rests now where it was meant to--in a chest

Treasured the way it was destined,

Not glanced at by probing eyes and prodded with pins of passerby lovers holding their places

Or grabbed at my filthy green hands grasping at invisible puppy promises

Yes, somewhere along the way I ceased to sow

Ceased to wear my red drummer on clothing so easily removed and separated cold--

For a heart is to beat and be warm--

Not worn...

on a sweater so poorly knit.

Author's Note

Feel free to share my work, but do not steal it. If you do...
I will find you.