Scraps Poem by sharon wildey

Tattered cloth around me
colors of all
strips and patches
I try each day to bind them to my body
enough to restore their usefulness
to cover my scars
I spend hours piecing them together
to make a cover
but I never can quite cover myself.
There are always gaps where others can see the blood oozing from my soul.
Like a learned seamstress, I examine each one,
I try and match the colors
so I can pretend I am a rainbow
when actually I am sitting in a heap of discards trying to hide my shame