The Sweater
Your mother knitted it
Filling it with a sad mistrust,
Running along a few blue stripes
Of self-hate.
Others fashioned it with
Pins and needles
To poke at you
To prick you.
But you wore it all those years,
Hoping somehow
The warmth of your skin
Would soften those needles
That everyone one would get along
If only you tried a bit harder.
It itched and bled you
Hurt and maimed you
Strangled you around the neck
Too tightly woven.
You left the house
But took the sweater with you.
You wear it still,
Pretending it only tickles
Wishing
Hoping
If you only wore it long enough
The sweater would fit right.
But it’s too tight
And too loose
The garment isn’t very becoming.
(It makes you look a little fat)
And its garish pinks and gingers
Wash your face to pale.
Take that goddamn sweater off.
Can't you see it doesn’t fit you anymore?
