Dingy Shirt
I feel used, abused
Run down and bruised
My “fellow friends”
They lack compassion
They toss me aside like
I’m not in fashion
Yes, that in accurate
When some have worn me
Like their favorite shirt
Where there are food stains,
Lip gloss, oil, and dirt
Although I am washed,
I can still see
The impression and marks
They left upon me
But then there are
Others who wear me on special occasions
And keep me locked up
For the time it takes a grape
To become a raisin
They only acknowledge my
Friendship when we are alone
They tell me secrets,
I shouldn’t have known
I now carry their “burdens”
but sometimes I don’t mind
being like Atlas who carries the globe
But I am definitely not pleased with
Being the shirt in their wardrobe
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