Riddle Nineteen: The Stitched Truth at Emanuel
In '06 at Emanuel, the cameras rolled,
A story repeated, just like '04 told.
They tried to hush me, to silence my song,
But hit the wrong door—threaded stitches gone wrong.
Black and blue, the marks still show,
A belly button scar from secrets below.
They took more than dignity, pieces of me,
But I came to conquer, reclaimed victory.
Emanuel, they say, should look like a church,
A place of healing, a holy search.
But to me, it's not a hospital's name—
It's the house where they deal out pain.
Sanctuary promised, but comfort denied,
Where stitches and secrets are hidden inside.
A cross on the sign, but no saving grace,
Only memories of wounds I still face.
The real one hit K-E-R-R, a name to play,
I got married there near Valentine's Day.
A leap to the tenth, just like he did—
Multiply by two, see what's hid.
One number away from the month's last call,
If it wasn't a leap, it wouldn't matter at all.
That month's short, never climbs the full ladder,
But the truth is stitched in—now, does it matter?
So follow the thread, the numbers, the pain,
The stitched-up secrets, the loss, the gain.
I fooled them all, took back my voice—
Now solve the riddle, if you dare, by choice.