i'm a shirt in the depths of your closet
shoved so far back
i'm not sure you even remember i'm here
it wasn't always this way
i used to be your favorite
i remember the day you found me
it was like love at first sight
i half expected you to leave me on the dressing room floor
cold, dark, empty
you didn't though
you took me with you
and we went everywhere together
we made so many memories
you hung me back in the closet once
i expected you to take me out again
i waited
and waited
you opened the door again
i thought you were going to grab me
you reached for me
but you grabbed the shirt in front of me
your new favorite
i waited
and waited and waited again
but i only got pushed farther back
you open the door
i figured you'd reach right past me like the last times
but you grabbed me
this is all i had been wishing for
we were together once more
you take one look at me
reflecting on our past together
then you toss me away in a small box
cold, dark, empty
why wouldn't you do that from the start?
leave me on that dressing room floor?
why take me
only to leave me in the end?
An Emperor With No Clothing
Would Be A Painful Site
No Hat No Hair No Paint No Lies
No Devil In Disguise
No Right...
But Smoother In The
Darkest Night
They Slither Out Of View
A Mote Into The Madness
Passing ---
Clearly Out Of
TRUE *
Whatever! Wearing Costumes...
Let's See Who's Dressed The Best!
From Military Uniforms To
Oops!!! Revealing Breasts.
OK,
You KNOW What's
"Proper,"
But Are You
SURE.
???
CUZ:
We've Made A Mess
Of Naked-ness
Since We
Realized We Were.
-Gray Squirrel
06-03-2025
Attempting introspection without being rude,
I ask myself, "what's going on with this dude?",
but is understanding really likely
with a house of mirrors psyche?
Subtle markers, clarity will betray -
or do they point the other way?
And which way is better and which way worse?
Or is it just the opposite, or the reverse?
And am I a wolf in the clothing of sheep?
Does my true nature appear in dreams when I sleep?
And when I'm awake before I retire,
am I a sheep in a wolf's attire?
I got a bra
It is quite uplifting
Can't see my feet
Now I am tripping
Walking down the street
Men do really stare
I also dyed my
Hair a purple shade.
My husband did not
Notice, nor my grandson
Whoa!! All those whistles
I got walking home
They don't know I'm
Eighty, humped and old
They just see the boobs
Bobble as I walk alone
The dresses of many a distant phase,
the casual attire of black and white,
the lumberjack shirts that were once, my craze.
The hoodies that hide me, both day and night,
the caps that shadow me from day’s sunlight.
The leather jacket for boldness of face,
the styles I’ve hid, for fear of losing face.
07.02.2024
I worry that my coat will murder me.
Hanging on Banister’s Edge it’s a man lurking, dark.
I’ve seen rows of killers shadowed and waiting,
hidden in the ridges of the living room radiator,
ready to pounce during a moonlit trip to the toilet.
From my position in bed, a stool could be a gremlin hunched,
the door frame a monstrous arm arching and looming, holding a hollow void.
The sheets around my feet are vines, all patterns the jaws of a Venus flytrap.
Snap.
Black cabs are hearses, flowerbeds fresh graves;
babbling brook rope swings form a noose, gravel paths stone me to death.
My cardigan knows it should be a straitjacket,
socks and watches nod knowingly towards shackles and manacles imaginary.
Cushions on a sofa? Nothing but false sense of security quicksand.
(Competition title: No 1299)
May we be blessed to acknowledge all the wonders in our life
that have, for us, thus far accrued…
and to begin each day with a word of thanks…
and thoughts of gratitude.
Today I’m thankful for campfire clothing…
because I shall never tire
of putting on a jacket or coat
that has absorbed the aroma
and the memories of the fire.
I was first picked up
In a cast-off shop in Liverpool;
Surrounded by racks of seasoned shirts
Bearing names of old soldiers.
“Draper” draped on an immature frame
In a collage of brown and green,
Overlapping and enveloping
Any semblance of a past self.
Baby-faced and militant,
The paradoxical camo in an urban warzone.
Slogans painted from shoulder to shoulder
In pungent, nuclear-white bathroom paint.
The smell is burned to memory,
Singeing nose hairs with chemical vigour,
Of dance-generated sweat, upturned pints,
A lover’s aftershave, the sting of cigarette smoke.
Washed once, maybe twice,
But anxious eyes watched the spin cycle,
Fearing specks of dislodged paint
Covering my muddy canvas.
Now “Draper” drapes a matured frame,
The only scent that lingers is
The petrichor of Northern summer
Tie-dyed deep into my fibres.
I bare a name that isn’t mine,
Memories of a life I did not live,
Scars from battles I never saw,
And honours that aren’t mine to claim.
The air is so chock full and thick
with irony
It must be hard to draw a single
breath inside
Without choking on it and gasping
for oxygen
But then again at very least
Both my beard and moustache have
grown a little longer in the meanwhile
But isn't that the point of irony after all
It helps you rather not contemplate
think about focus or concentrate
On the total and utter irony of the
tedious task placed in front of you
at hand
Like ironically ironing ones clothes
for work the next day
I
When it comes to clothing styles, I'm afraid we pay & promote sinners
II
Once my wife wore a pants with those bare threads: revealed skin promotes sin ( thoughts)
III
Help me Jesus, with those near & dear, as to accepting but correcting. Help me promote what pleases You,for Thy Kingdom. Amen
You came to me. So gentle and kind. Soft fur and wounded eyes. You showed me your scars, and I showed you mine. It brought us closer, for I understood the black sheep. I tried to lead you out of the dark. Show you how to live in the light. I lead you out, though it took some time. Your fur was changing, from black, to grey, to white. Only your face remained dark. Maybe to signify that you would always carry with you where you came from. And everything you overcame. I accepted you how you were, to me it was beautiful. Until one night, I had a nightmare. I dreamt that the black fur on your face wasn't fur at all, but a mask. Under that mask were red eyes, dark as blood. Long sharp teeth that snarled at me when I got close. And long pointed ears that laid flat against your head. You lunged at me, tearing at my flesh. I tried to wake myself up from this nightmare, only to realize that I was already awake. But by the time I realized it, it was too late. You had already torn me to shreds.
He lies he cheats,
He smiles He greets,
He tells you he is a one woman man,
He gives you nothing while giving another woman a grand,
But keep in mind He says he is a one woman man,
He steals from you after he borrows,
He treated you like a queen but now fills you with sorrows,
You wake up busting him stealing from you with his hand in your purse ,
Now you know he had done your the worse ,
But why now he once protected is he so quick to screw over you,
His sister plants the worst scandelous lies in his head top while taken from the bottom of what to do,
Humiliation, insults, disrespect, lies, and he says he loves you but he don't,
Cause with love you give that one your time and anything you'll do for them but he just won't,
Uses you and tells you no more free loading,
Now you'll see take a second look it's Tracy Larson in sheep's clothing,
You thought he was the best he spoiled you put you on the pedalstool,
Loved you more than anything now only to be playing you the fool,
You see him being every other woman's and sneaking on the internet dating sites he goes,
Look again it's Tracy Larson choosing to wear his sisters sheep's clothes
I have stepped
into a shadow.
I am trying it on for size,
taking it in here,
letting it out there,
lifting the hem.
The task complete,
I smooth a crease,
adjust the lamp,
and flick some
leftover darkness
into a corner.
First published in Alba: A Journal of Short Poetry, Issue 35, Winter 2021
My favorite outfit,
don't leave the house, yeah
prisoner of the wardrobe,
knows nothing of life...
my favorite shorts,
it is... well ventured...
it has two holes
on each side, but is
cool and coquettish...
Not intimidated by anything,
attend any ceremony,
is always friendly and festive,
and there is none
shame...!
Just a plant
A covering
Picked streamed and sewn
Changed into clothes
I am naked
Yet!
I'm covered by the flower with the white ball cotton
Pure and Holy
Sometimes synthetically woven
Made unpurely
It touches my organ skin
a covering
Cotton I am naked
Then I need it not
When I'm alive in heaven
I'll no longer need earthly clothing
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