PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

My clothes
Fit well i’ve
Grown on them
You see
the thin veil of
interpretation
between you and me
My clothes are a
Room of my own they
Are me
The clothes make
The man the man-made me
Made in Taiwan
Made just for me

Do you see

Do you like my style
Thread-bare and frayed
This is me
Trying to get laid
Just look at me
In faded blue jeans
So desperate to hide
My class
A long way from
Fig leaves and furs
To cover our ass
This lie of individuality
A nylon shell
A lining of skin
Blood, sweat and tears
And original sin

Here on the
Catwalk i make my
Confession
Still naked
Beneath the robes of
My profession
Here on the altar of
Fashion
the fatted lambs come home
wagging their tails
to the cameraman

i was the boy who
stuffed his
genitals into a
size 28
offering a whole
scrotum-full of
possibilities to
polyester amenities
a sweet smelling
sacrifice
to the gurus of good
taste

just look at me all
dressed up and
not place to go
in the emperor’s new clothes
the envy of peers
applauded by legions
on anorexic
faggot-queens
well screw the emperor
this is treason
bring back the white-starched
shirt and the
knee-patch-for-good-reasons

me i never found my
style i
spent my life looking
for that tailor-made suit
i’ve spent all i own on
fashion consultants
and a wardrobe of
cheap imitations
i’m giving the shirt off my
back now too
i’ve hopelessly
outgrown it
i’ll send it to you
though a
hand-me-down hoping
wear it well
it will stretch
though it’s not your size
yet

look at me now all
swaddled in
this shiny black
coat of skin
private parts just
barely covered in
the threads of
a poem and
our imaginations