The Seams / What Seems

(a poem by Awonke Zoya)

I walk in garments stitched with grace,

But every thread holds battles faced.

The smile I wear is neat, precise—

A tailored lie, a well-cut slice.

What seems like calm is storm beneath,

A hurricane that barely breathes.

Each word I say, a chosen thread,

To keep the fraying from my head.

The seams—they hold, but just so tight,

As if pretending makes it right.

A laugh escapes, a polished seam,

But underneath, I lose my dream.

I stitch my silence into sound,

Pretend I’m whole, pretend I'm found.

But every tug, each gentle pull,

Reveals the places I’m not full.

The world loves what it seems to see—

The mask, the poise, the fantasy.

But underneath these woven lines,

Are truths unthreaded over time.

So if you see a thread undone,

Or catch a glimpse before I run—

Know that the fabric isn’t fake,

It’s just a soul that tried to break.

And still, I wear my patchwork skin,

With all the messy truth within.

Because the seams, though worn and stressed,

Are proof I tried, I cared, I dressed.

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