i am made entirely of flaws, stitched together by good intentions.

a patchwork of scars and faded dreams

each seam a testament to survival,

each tear a memory of battles lost and won.

my fabric is worn, edges frayed,

but it's held together by threads of kindness,

stitched with moments of trying, failing, and trying again.

the pattern is chaotic, but there’s beauty in the disorder.

don't judge me by the smoothness of the surface,

but by the strength it takes to hold these pieces together.

in every flaw, there's a story, a lesson,

a thread of hope that runs through it all.

thy patchwork soul, though imperfect, tells a tale

of resilience, of rising each time i fall.

but the weight of these stitches grows heavy,

and the climb—steeper with every step.

i find myself longing for a moment’s rest,

as the uphill battle wears thin my tattered seams.