the many uses of rope

i run my hands along the fibers of my words;

some scrape the skin off my fingertips,

leaving me raw to their power,

while others feel like gentle lips

tenderly kissing my many scars.

i've twisted them into whips

to cut into my skin

and shred my emotions into strips,

leaving myself open

and start to come to grips.

*

if they did that to me

what did they do to you?

was it fair for you to see

the effects of what these ropes

were doing to me?

did i want them to choke you

like they kept choking me

until i loosen the noose

and i set myself free?

*

i've turn them into a rug,

something pretty to look at

with the darkness secretly intertwined.

i told you to ignore that;

there was nothing for you to see.

but unfortunately we were all cats

and everything quickly unraveled,

knocking us down flat.

*

the words used to be binds

crisscrossing over my soul

tightening over my mind

with every line and verse

they became knives i needed to find

to cut myself loose

but the marks serve to remind (me)

*

and from the bindings

i've turned them into nets

tossed them out

unsure and hopeful about what i would get

because i hoped it would be less sometimes

but we all hold scars we'd hoped to forget

*

are you upset i captured you?

did you wish to stay with the multitudes

in the wide open blue?

or did you find solace

in the similarities between us two?

*

my hands are calloused from all these words,

but i can still feel the bite

when my hands start to weave,

yet i still write,

*

turning them in nooses and baskets,

nets and decorations.

some comfort as if they were blankets.

*

what will come from this next one?

i do not know,

*

we'll see once i'm done.