“It” can be many things.

Together, “they” stitched the dreams,

And were all “him” in the fabrication of sleep.

 

“It” is also female.

Alone, “she” wears and tears the tapestry.

Though belonging to no one, “I”

Still am the quilt “she” keeps.

 

Then all of “them” sewers were gone,

“Us” fading from past memories,

Only leaving “this” material.

 

The female stayed with “me,”

Ripping away “my” childhood,

And reinforcing “something” stronger.

 

Now, “someone” else, are

“Those” stripped seams,

“These” unrecognizable themes,

“Their” missing… “Something.”

 

At most, “we,” defeated by tough love,

Especially survived that war, “who”

Is uncanny to “each other,”

Mentorly, not motherly,

 

At least, “no more.”

 

But thank “you.”

The patched pieces are now “mine.”