sjsprWriting

Sometimes,

I wish I were made out of cloth.

That way, I could be

Smooth or

Sturdy or

Soft.

I could be desired and coveted.

I could be called beautiful with no surprise or hesitation.

Sometimes,

I wish I were made out of cloth.

That way, I could cut away the frayed edges,

And the ugly stains,

And the people will still look at me and say, “Beautiful.”

Sometimes,

I am glad I am not made out of cloth.

Because I think I would cut away,

until there is

nothing

left

of

me.