These Boots

I think we all wear new clothes with more care. 

We look at the misplaced threads

And the runs in the fabric

With more suspicion, 

More caution.

We find the value for our money

We steal glances at our reflection 

in passing panels of glass, 

for any justification of our sunken cost.

Does this fit like a glove?

This old glove with its stray threads and yellowing fabric isn’t the enemy,

It’s just my glove.

The fingers fit a little looser than when I bought the pair but,

They’re just my gloves.

My white satin top has a stain from when

the girl painted me a shade of neon orange at the club.

My shoes are falling apart a little but at least they don’t bite,     

And they’re mine.

I see people like I see a new coat.

Did I make the right decision?

Will you get me through the winter?

Do I look like a penguin trying him on right now?

My oldest coat feels the warmest.

There’s holes, stains, runs

But it was good value for money.

Letting go right now wouldn’t be the right decision.

I can still work it to the last thread.

Until that  white T-shirt is just a ball of yarn again. 

Until the skirt runs its course. 

Until I get my time’s worth out of my favourite pair

of blue jeans that refuses to fit me now.

The mirrors just don’t answer me anymore when I ask:

Do I fit in

to these boots?