He calls me a ‘tapestry’

The newest exhibit in his gallery

Independently curated; a fractured replica of the real me

Fabric by fabric he weft the worst of me

Covering the warp the best of me

Enveloped by a vision of a more perfect me

Unlike the pieces of art you loved before me

admired in perpetuity

Jagged edges and incomplete patterns too expensive to authenticate

discarded material lay in waste

Unraveling each thread, rushing to tuck away every loose end

blinded by abstraction

Even further now than where we could’ve been

hoarding a collection of arguments we’ll never mend

Create me, display me

I’m a tapestry

As long as you do so artfully