The Ugly Sweater
I am an ugly sweater...
The one who everyone owns,
but doesn’t admit it
unless it’s that time of the year,
and everyone decides you’re finally good enough.
The one that sits in the closet,
the yarn slowly unravelling,
fraying at all the edges
but begging to be worn.
I pray for someone to fix me up,
to stitch me back together,
I can come out of the cupboard.
They say stitch yourself back up,
fix yourself, here are the tools.
But when you open the sewing kit,
All they’ve given you is fabric dye
to cover up the problem,
because there is no cure
for an ugly sweater.
But when you use the dye,
you don’t remember
what you looked like, before,
but you know,
it’s definitely not this -
Blank space, plain yarn -
Not an ugly sweater,
but not a nice one, either.
A sweater that’s lost its brightness,
that is stagnant and empty,
but is this really better
than being ugly and unwanted?
You have so much potential, they say,
there are so many ugly sweaters, like you,
who are beautiful and successful
and are worn all over the world.
I sit in darkness ,
in a drawer,
Not daring to show my true face
for if they see the real me,
the half that's unrestrained and bright,
they might decide to throw me out,
Or maybe they’ll see the other me -
The darkness -
And decide that it's too much.
Not that I blame them,
it’s too much for me too, sometimes,
I can’t see where one pattern starts,
and the other begins,
its too much and not enough, all at once.
...and I want it to stop...
But the only way to stop,
this irrational ugly mess,
is permanent -
and as much as I want to...
...I’ve not got the courage...
I’m scared to die,
but I’m scared to live, too
and I wish more than anything,
that I was born normal.
Not an ugly sweater...