My  Closet Clothes that I have worn, Tattered. Torn. Ripped apart by others. Their pride, pain, and traumas. I try to stitch them back. Each time, threads wither… Unraveling, unveiling further Parts of me— Precious, Naked, Fragile, Parts of me I desperately tried to cover up. Yet the clothes cannot hide The bruises inflicted upon me.  As vivid as the clothes once were. Ashamed of myself, I can no longer stitch these pieces together. Fabric worn thin, Threads not strong enough. However, I now realize I can purchase my own fabric. My own choices, I clothe my soul. My choice…