When I grow up I’d like to be taller…

I have some Little Ribbons,

I wear them in my hair.

They keeps my locks all pretty,

I actually have a pair. 
But when they get all curly,

From all that daily wear,

To keep them neat and tidy.

I stretch them on the stair. 

Oh piercing wire, with clasps and lace,

Digs my flesh and does deface

With sores and grooves.

I tolerate you with good grace,

And go about my daily life

With a smile upon my face.
You perpetrator of inequality

The work success that was defied me.

That interview!

My eyes he never did see!

Your clasps and chains

That shaped and betrayed me.
Yet there were tales to behold!

If you could speak and stories told

Of romance and intrigue, and wild affairs.

Involving diamonds and gold!

You illustrious goddess

Of new tales yet to unfold.
Oh ancient garment.

You should into the rubbish be thrown.

But we have travelled too far

And together grown.

And new clasps I have sown.

The bra that launched ten thousand days.
(Love ’em. Hate ’em. We can’t do without ’em).

Sing to me, O Muses,

So that I may tell a story

of a hero, of war and love.
My belt, the black one, holds

All that is below my, waist, for

that is what the gods deemed.
Into and out of portals, whether

supine or crouched, my belt, the

one with the metal clip, held fast.

The garden muses call to me

“It’s time to plant.” “Time to grow.”

My blue rubber boots heed the call.

They serve me well. From heel to toe.

So soft and strong

A cut above the rest

I’ve had you for so long,

For you’re one of the best,

You’re athletic,

And cool,

Made from synthetic,

Considered a sports tool,

What would I do,

On the field,

If it wasn’t for you,

My t-shirt, my shield.  

My favorite sweatshirt

Only so much can be said

A friendship so strong

Inseparable

So red in hue

Serving as a protective guardian

Against weather and days of poor attire

Shielding others from yesterdays dirty t-shirt

Whilst it serves me so

It is rewarded, rarely, but so

A bath, and a warm tumble

That bright hue vibrant yet again

My favorite sweatshirt

My friend and protector 

Soiled, abused and battered,

Still we have struggled valiantly.

To finish, though flaps and gussets, gnarled and knotted

Stand in the way of our turn

We know the task is beyond our small abilities.

There is no room for failure

For the fate of the world hangs on our very grafting, flapping breath

Supplicants, we raise, in a pantheon chorus

Our voices to the sky!

Though the goddesses have deserted us in our hour of need

We continue to evoke her names as a safe guard against evil.

“Hygieia, Hygieia, in your name grant us the privilege of purity, cleanliness and softness!

Though we try our best, we fall into the trap of succumbing to the crime of becoming odoriferous.

Mokosh aid us in our task of remaining paired throughout eternity and to remain whole!”

And if our pleas fall upon deaf ears

May the mending of us make us stronger.

Through twists and turns, we will not flee!

Though we are fleet of foot, heel and leg

Though you may cuff us and spear us with darting needles!

We stand our ground

Relentless of spirit

Though alone, we are always mated

Defying all who try to part us

Though we may be washed upon the shore

And tumbled most dreadfully

In the unrelenting heat of the dry desert

Until our minds do not know

Whether we are in the sky or in hell

We stand together.

And then, most piteously,

Once we have recovered from our ordeal

We discover, to our shock and horror,

We have been ripped forever from our mate

And have been sentenced to suffer

The fate of aloneness

Discarded as unworthy,

To enter into the Underworld of our lives,

Forgotten and discarded.

Beige bras
They tend to get dingy
The longer you wear them
The looser they get
Sometimes
I think I should swap it
but they are so comfy
I think, no not just yet!
My tribute to the most reliable and mundane clothing item I have. Hang in there beige bra!
Also a tribute to a song we used to sing in the Girl Scouts about black socks. My creativity was rather low today.