May stick and stones break my bones
but words will always pick me apart

I was told, I'll grow to finery
becoming a grown tapestry
Yet, all I have to show are frayed edges
I've become fraught
no longer taunt
My will sags like the loose threads
I see no value in reweaving
since all the world will focus on
are the mistakes in the thread count

I can't help but wonder
if it weren't for the cruel words
that cut me as scissors cut string
What images would be depicted?
What stories would others make of me?

Would it be a lush forest
as ancient as history, wise with oak
Or rapids tearing through carts
foolish enough to tempt the waters
Most likely that of a fool hanging by his feet
after stepping on the toes of a none too kind king

When I look at my tapestry
I can't help but feel
disgust and disappointment
All I see is a tangle of knots
with no clear indication on
what it should all mean

Yet, friends and strangers alike
claim to see strength and resilience
A brilliance that shines through most hardships
I don't know what combination
of symbols and imagery
could pull off such an illusion

It might simply be the case that
I am forever doomed to face
the backside of this tapestry
I guess I will never know
how it will turn out