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Stitches
Black String,
Sewing my imperfection
Into something perfect.
A needle pierces my flawed skin,
Forcing it to be made flawless
With these stitches.
Black string,
Closing up an opened wound.
It is visible, even if it has healed.
The memory will always be there,
Of how you gashed your knee when
You were little
And needed stitches.
Black string,
Tugging on my heart
Sewing it back together
After all the pain
Multiple people have caused.
It hurts so bad,
Especially the thought of stitches.

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I want people to understand that everyone has their own stitches. It can be wanting to change your imperfections, a wound you physically have from your childhood, or being stitched up from a heartbreak. We all deal with these sorts of thing no matter what our backstory is. In the end, we are all made up of stitches.