The beautiful world of a queer milliner.

May 12, 2013

"here is my string of doubt
pull it and you will unravel me
completely
a sighing mess of almost kisses
at the gates of your mouth
demanding to be let in and fed
by the blue fire of your tongue
some nights, I stack
my grief inside of itself like a
Matryoshka doll
other nights I smother it
with my pillow and
and wring the salty tears out
in the wash
where do we put all of it?
where does it go when we silence it?
when we are born, our
souls are attached to a needle
the years of growing are spent
in the hands of a patient knitter
and because no one is perfect
there are always holes
here is my string of doubt
an extra thread laying on top
of another
pull it and I will be nothing
but potential warmth
a sweater with a hole where
the heart should be
there are nights that
bleed into morning before
I can grab a bandage and stop
the wound
the pricked fingers of the knitter
in my sky
and I cannot fall asleep until
they have scabbed over
here is my string of doubt
the one that dangles like the
rope of a church bell
when you tell me you aren’t
going anywhere
the one that you want to ring
just before mass
pull it
and watch me fall to pieces
slowly and sweetly
and all at once
just for you"

— a patient knitter and their masterpiece (via alonesomes)

8:46pm | URL: https://tmblr.co/Z7pQsuktCV5S

(Notes: 380)