Son of a Seamstress

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Alone,

taking patterns and material

to sew colors that only your

love can express.

Quietly

choosing the right emotions

and threading your soul

carefully.

I’ve mistaken your happiness

when you smiled,

while wearing the shirt you made.

Some of the buttons have gone missing now

and there are holes and stains all over.

You rush to fix it.

I don’t see anything wrong,

the love never faded.

Orange

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I can’t rhyme it because

it’s something you taste,

hear, touch, and see.

 

I mean,

we can Taste a sunset;

Hear a field of marigolds;

Touch the citrus twist; and

See the cleansing aroma it illuminates.

 

An orange reminds me of love, motivation, and individuality.

It doesn’t need to rhyme or make sense,

as long as we accept everything about it in our own way.