Fabricated and cut from a different cloth
Some say I’m soft and some say I’m hard.
I used to be honoured, I gave credit to God
but something caught me off-guard.
Moved by people and machines,
layered by fingers and nails,
twisted and turned by teens and babies.
But never was I disrespected,
the way I was ripped and tossed in a bin of trash.
I used to be good help for cleaning,
they even used me to dry things.
Some days I would return
in unexpected wings.
It confuses me because I’m not sure
if it’s the devil’s or the Lord’s.
Now I’m burnt, hard, dirty, torn, bleached
and perceived as “old”.
Guess I was never the picture
of somebody’s “end-goal”.
Apparently, I was just good for nothing,
bought with a price tag.
Which begs the question:
“Am I just a dirty old cloth now?” Now you can brag.
I mean, don’t we all want to brag?
Don’t we all want the spotlight?
We want the fresh smell and not to live to say:
“Ugh, life’s such a drag?
Guess we’re all different
in one way or another after all.
That is, we’re not cut from the same cloth.