Autobiography

stories are woven 

like tapestries, 

thread upon thread,

moment upon moment.

beautiful

from a distance,

beautiful 

when looking in.

beautiful

until 

too close. 

the raw, the ugly,

the damaged

threads

jumping out so

you cannot look away,

so they become all you see,

feeling upside down

underwater

as the wholeness of it 

dances and 

blurs.

so when they pause

to look, i 

hope they see a 

tapestry, 

and not 

a thread.

i hope 

i am a 

tapestry, 

and not 

a thread.