Poetry (words)

My jeans

My jeans are too big, but I like the way they don’t fit. I’m constantly pulling them up. I could wear a belt, but I like how they fall. Never completely, how they cling to my hips like they know I will catch them. 

The bottoms have frayed because they drag on the ground. They get caught in my flip-flops. When I stand I always have on hand in my pocket, but only in these jeans. Half holding them up and half pulling them down. 

Advertisements
Standard

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s