Leave a Comment


girl holding thread in her fingers

I hate knowing that I am a piece of you. That somewhere, somehow, there is a connection. Paper thin, or like thread.

It binds us together in ways I wish it didn’t. Like the way you hold the handle of a spoon or open car doors, the simple things.

But there is more. When you peel the potatoes, you think of me. Just as I picture your face in him, in her, in my decisions.

We are threaded by single moments.
By strands, by spider-sewn silk so strong even the stealthiest bugs get caught. Trapped. I am suffocated by what we believed was love. We, both you and I. We were tricked into thinking that we would be happy. That we could forgive.

But threads tie together, knot, rub raw.
And there will always be fragments
of you buried deep in my skin.

This entry was posted in: Poetry


Marisa Donnelly, M.Ed., is a writer/editor, credentialed teacher, proud bonus mama, and CEO of Be A Light Collective, a coaching and content creation business and digital marketplace. She is the Director of Donnelly’s Daily Apple, a flexible learning/tutoring and educational resource platform, and the lead voice for Momish Moments and Step by Step Parents, verticals dedicated to sharing and advocating for non-traditional parenting journeys. Marisa currently resides in San Diego, California, with her fiancé, kiddo, and their two rambunctious Pitbulls. ❤️

Share your thoughts!