Coast Itch/Co-stitch

"How can I stitch myself back together when you hold the thread?" (Notes archive; December 2, 2018)

I ponder this,

and it seems to me 

that the seams of "we" are connected. 

We are sewn together,

but in this endeavor,

I, alone, am unsewn. 

Two is not better than one when both

are individually coming apart.

I should have known 

loose threads tend 

to come undone

at their untied end. 

Upon reaching the point of irreparable,

we have to become separable.

There is no other way.

I know this today,

for I can not be hemmed by (anyone but me)

those hemming me in, you especially.

I must repair myself,

recall who holds the needle. 

I mustn't be seduced by

the way you romantically wheedle.

Your way back into my life

Has been obstructed by my limit with strife.

I may have handed the needle to you,

but I can retrieve or reconstruct it new. 

I can find myself, compass in hand,

lost at sea in search of land.

I can rescue her lungs from filling

with the water her vessel's been spilling.

I must be my own compass,

be my own current,

carry myself

and cease to be my own deterrent.

I must point myself in a different direction.

I must rise above it, move forward and out. 

I must navigate my way North and East,

collecting the pieces I've scattered about.

I pack what's left

and leave what left.

I need to get up and do what is right.

I have never been to the New Jersey Coast,

but I would like to see the city at night.

Do I have enough thread to make a new jersey?

I'll need more articles of clothing for my journey.

To know where I'm going and how to get there,

I first need to know where I am right now.

How do I know from where I depart?

To pull myself up from the ground, I must start.

My feet will have to meet 

rock bottom before

I know I have reached it.

I'm ready to land.

I'm falling too hard to catch myself now.

Gravity has lent me a heavy helping hand. 

It loves me more than ever now.

Soon, I'll be there. I've almost touched down.

Cut me some slack when I reach the ground.

No, not you.

I must for myself. 

I need a running stitch. 

I'm not running from you -

I'm running from the part of me that thinks it needs you.

I'm running toward myself.

I'll travel toward a new article of me:

"a", "an", and "the",

no longer a "we."

It is just I,

hanging on desperately,

fabricating a new fabric of "me".

I will soon materialize

with more material to share

out of thin air into coastal skies

telling the story of how I got there:

with an urge to find wherever I went

that felt like a coastal itch,

and a need to be whole, all on my own,

no longer co-stitched.