To the Shirt!

Oh! My shirt,
Lovely you! Posing as me
In this season of fake,
Giving me an identity
And representing me wherever I go about
And humming in their tunes!

Oh! My shirt,
You allow me to live this life
Like never before
In this season of tardiness
Playing my own body
Like a poor man’s cruse
Empty though, yet fill with pride.

Oh! My shirt,
I have no qualms living like this
Carrying you, instead of my body;
In fact, my body
It befits a décor for borrowed coffins,
From some crafty carpenter
Ready to be buried
Without the parting ceremony!

Yet my dear shirt,
Bring me the finest of robs
I want to walk these fine roads
For one last time, in your garb
In the finest grandeur,
So bring me the best of your robes.
Don’t you know:
They all come in their finest attire
Silky smooth shiny clothes,
So that they call me their friend;
I am tired of this isolation,
Hiding, wearing only you
Like my own skin
They even said, I stink
But you don’t know, that’s not me
They were talking about
It’s you, in your fetish for this body
Tell me what’s it in this body
That you can’t let go,
No, don’t say you can’t shed me my skin!