Alphabet Soup Minuscule

J.C. Scheff

Box and a Stranger


Am I just a sweater that has lost its shape?
Does my fabric no longer feel soft on your skin, because you have worn me and out grown me.

Has my color faded so much that you just wash me in hot?
Knowing I still bleed with every wash.

So, I hang here.
My shoulders molding over this plastic,
Next to other brands, older.

We all hope for another go.
Another moment where we can drape our material around you.
Covering you.
Keeping you warm.

Knowing we’ll
Only to get thrown to a box and a stranger. 

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2 thoughts on “Box and a Stranger

  1. wow, sad and great poem

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