Too Small to Wear

The jacket slips on —

buttons fight a losing war,

sleeves bunch like fists

around knuckles rubbed raw.

The collar sags, faded,

threadbare as old promises.

I keep it folded

because it’s got my shape,

once, before the seams pulled tight,

before the shoulders slumped,

before the mirror caught

all the room I’d lost.

Heavy with awkward comfort,

a second skin that no longer fits,

I wear it like regret

that won’t let go.