Quietly,

I sit and sew this quilt.

Wish I could stop,

both the sewing and this guilt.

Equal,

was no patch.

All, a different trauma than the last.

Quietly,

I sit and sew this quilt.

Wishing for a pop of color…

only to get a charcoal gray, and then, another.

Frequently,

I’ll sneak a yellow in the yarn.

Only to be ruined by a drop of red,

thanks to self harm.

Quietly, 

I sit and sew this quilt.

Mourning not my death, but rather this life I built.

Hoping I sew together the very last patch,

and tomorrow begin another,

a fresh start,

at last.