A tale untold..

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.