A King of Shreds and Patches

A eight-year does not sit in the summer grass and think up their future selves. 
They think of the next glass of kool-aid and 
where their "pet" frog went. 
I believed that I would end up like the kids on TV. 
Those characters made of static are only patches of who many people really are. 

We take the good pieces of cloth and sew it onto a mannequin 
to influence the world. 
Little do they know that those watching pick up those shreds
and attach them to their own person. 
It is the same with people made of actual life. 

I found a superhero camp that my camp counselor dropped. 
That cape still serves me today as I run around as the counselor named Flash. 

I found a ragged piece of linen clothe that blew out of my teacher's hands. 
She taught us that peace and harmony were excellent friends and deserved 
to be celebrated. 

I found a piece a rough denium in my mother's things. 
Her outer shell was tough, but underneath was a smooth cotton blanket. 
She taught me that having a tough shell will actual be beneficial in this 
world who chooses to batter us. 

I constantly think about what pieces I am dropping. 
Do my campers find pieces of my old camp shirts?
 Do my friends see the peace imprinted patches I leave behind? 
Hopefully, someone will find my shreds and patches and add them
to their own person. 

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

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