Patchwork

Poetry by Autumn Barraclough

We are all made in God’s image

But my version of God’s image that I was created in Feels like it was painted by Salvador Dali

I was born as two halves stitched into one thing. I moved and my soul became spotted with new ideas, concepts, and opinions

Leaving me to be placeless and unrelatable.

My body is merely a collection of pieces That God biologically took from my ancestors

My dad’s eyes

My grandmother’s thighs

My great great grandmother’s hair

All combined into a being of me

My heart was broken, then pieced together again. The shards still jaggedly reach out of the moldable clay I stuck them into.

I’m not complete, but do I really need someone else to do that for me?

Right now, I’m just a collage of meshed outcomes A mosaic of many colors, textures, and materials Or possibly a jumbled, haphazard collection.

I’m not a whole thing

But, if I’m lucky, I could still be a singular work in progress.