The corners came undone long ago.
Slowly unfurling from where we tuck them in
so incredibly tight…
The place where we come to a point pulls in all four directions.
white fabric flapping softly in the breeze…
But we refuse to pick up speed
and white only stays white for so long
and winds change rapidly…
We feel our souls exposed to an unfamiliar cold
one that means banishment
and a wave of anger.
We pull in our corners
tuck them under our waning faith
promise them they’ll see the light again someday
and dye the fabric black…
then the colors of pain…
Until it turns an ugly shade of brown
that can’t hide us anymore.
We pull at the corners
rip them out from under the weight of our childhood
the expectations of our families
the judgment of our neighbors
the fear of a false messiah
and let the shit colored fabric free from the heavy rocks we stoned ourselves with.
And then it’s done.
We have left the fold.