Weaving my Worth

I remember giving a bracelet to one of my babysitter's when I was young. I made it out of my mother's yarn.

My parents obviously got some throughout my life, too, they’d been there the longest after all. I gave them these gifts to show my love.

I had many relationships with all kinds of people in grade school but their yarn was cut shorter. I only gave them a small bit of yarn, nothing too personal.

I gave some to my first boyfriend but I stopped after it began to be too much for me.

But it seemed I didn't cut it off quite as firmly as I thought and he kept pulling and pulling. I tried to fight back. It was exhausting.

After that, I taught myself to weave my own. Lately getting mine from others had been running out faster. I didn’t have to go running from person to person, I could just go make my own.

It would usually take an hour or so of solitude to really get it going. I tried to make enough love for everyone I met.  

In high school, I met some people who were into weaving too. Their yarn caught everyone's eye and was just full of confident colors. They added their own touches and all the extra pizazz anyone could ask for.

We loved to show our yarn to each other and give them as gifts. I usually hung the gifts I got on my wall for a “rainy day” or if I didn't feel I had the energy to weave anymore.

The most beautiful things we did though, was when we put all our yarns together. All the colors combined into one blanket covering us from the cold.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741