Well, once I was a peice of cloth.
Too small to cover,
Too weak to protect,
Too tattered to shelter,
So they called me a rag.
There isnt much a rag can be
Apart from a useless part of an otherwise uself whole.
And so I was
Just a rag.
Till I met another rag.
Bigger and stronger
And yet not whole,
Caught in the wind,
Too in-the-flow
To let go.
We were both rags.
Both useless parts of separate useful wholes.
And they stitched us together
The stitchers.
Every stitch
They pierced us with,
Altered who we were
And created who we are.
The needle and thread
Sewed strong bonds
And yet we knew we were
Useless parts of separate useful wholes
Different in every way.
In texture and form
In the way light passed through
Our warp and weft
In the way we absorbed
Or let things glide over.
But we were together.
Bigger together than we were apart.
Slowly becoming
Strong enough
Big enough
And whole.
To them things were different.
To them,
The lookers on,
Together we looked lovely.
Beautiful in our contrast,
And complete.
They loved us,
Named a price,
And we were sold.
To wipe tears and bring smiles.
To bring cheer and look nice.
To just be there
Adorned, adored and awe inspiring.
For some odd reason,
They loved us
As we looked,
Together.
But they all wanted us
And so,
There was tugging
And pulling
Until it grew into a ruthless snatching
And we came undone.
By then we had forgotten how to be rags.
To be small and weak and tattered.
To be useless parts of separate useful wholes.
By then
We knew what
It felt to be loved.
But they gave away,
The stitches.
In the hustle.
And again we were,
Just rags.
As rags
We weathered.
We knew we were parts again.
Useless parts of... yes you know.
But not to them.
They still loved us,
For our form and texture,
For our color and weave.
For the way light passed through
our warp and weft.
For our loveliness,
And they each kept a part.
Apart.
When they pulled the threads away
They saw the holes
That had cut through us.
And overlooked.
You know,
They still thought we were beautiful.
But over time,
All they saw was
The loveliness fading,
The beauty gone.
They saw it reappear.
This thing,
About the way we looked.
And they knew what we were.
What they had made us.
It was then that they knew,
Apart, we would be just rags.
Smaller than before,
Weaker and more incomplete.
So they decided to sew us back together.
But there is this thing with sewing.
The undone cannot
Be redone as is.
As rags again,
We had to be trimmed a little,
Or the stitches would not be
As strong.
And so we were cut,
Made smaller.
Of another shape and size.
Different.
And stitched back together.
It was odd,
The way we looked,
Sewed back together.
Rough edges jutting out.
There was this thing,
That made us a lot less lovely,
Than before.
But yet again,
We became,
This whole that wasnt as whole
As the previous whole.
But was whole.
And that is who we are right now.
The story doesn't end
For none really does.
They all go on.
In a different time
And space.
All I know
Is though we were,
We are not,
Rags anymore.
