Taking pieces of fabric and pigeon holing each one into a little cubbyhole
or weaving them all into a mesh.
Each piece is different and exciting and glorious
Like us.
Each piece has frayed edges, bits of lint, some are silk, some are linen, some are burlap.
Each has its time to shine and each will still fade in the sun.
Some of the colors complement each other and some of the colors clash.
Some of the swatches are restrictive and restraining.
Made of rubber that binds.
I have an aversion to clashing. I hate clashing.
If I write what I feel or what I think,
I may cataclysmally clash.
My red will upset someone’s purple.
My magenta will clash with someone’s puce.
My lilac will overwhelm someone’s vanilla.
Where to end the questioning of your own soul?
When do you take a chance?
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