I did love it more than I wore it
I loved to hold it and let the rose color sleeves do tiptoe over and around my face and neck
but I never loved the material it was stitched in
too soft it was
too gentle and too much of all and everything that was nice
all and everything love
roughed
I thought I would make it rough
I’m sure I made it rough
maybe the last time I touched it
maybe the time I wore it
the first I looked at it
I guess I hurt the delicate button (there were nine of them)
every minute I touched wore and looked
the strong, sweet-scented collar made me look up and high
I saw was dust and everything smelled rotten
too peaceful
pockets, there were five of them
beautiful, my shirt was but I was far
I didn’t want to see through the holes each pocket had
they forced me to see what was beyond and hard
maybe possible maybe too easy
I stopped searching them and skew the holes to the beautiful places
it was not for me
weak tired dark
the sweet shirt with a promise to beyond was not for me
not for me not to wear not to love
but I did too much
I was scared to wear it
weak tired dark
I was not for the shirt
so I made shreds of it