May 20, 2010
By Anonymous

This hoodie I wear,
Keeps me warm and covered,
Put the hood up when I want to hide,
Stash my hands in the pockets when I feel out of place.
This hoodie is mine.

These pants I wear,
Sag only a tad with “style,”
Covers the revealing torso,
Holds all my valuables on hand.
These pants are mine.

This body I wear,
Keeps moving with everyone else,
Wants to give up on the owner,
Puts off an aura of carelessness.
This body is mine.

The author's comments:
I wrote this poem when I was kicked out of my house and I was basically homeless for a few days. And I had to rely on myself for everything and all I had were my clothes.

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