high socks

high socks on my legs, rock the
high tops on my feet, beat the
street, treat it like a drum, hum your
mother’s favorite song

three different colored jeans, wash them
every 3 or 7 weeks, watch them
wear out ’til they’re worn out, walk them
to your mother’s home

large shirts and the sweaters hide your
inner demons, help you slide by
without a workout, watch you white lie
like you did to your mother’s face

have a hat for every fit, fit your
thoughts and demons into it, flip it
back for doing business, i’m too
old to be the cool kid

i grew wings
saw myself
and flew to it
new to it
grown up shit
never thought
i’d own some shit
imagine that
imagine this

moved around the country
got away with it

i can still hear my mother’s hums
she’s a 15 minute walk away
and a two minute drive.
i’ve told all my lies
and they’ve gone away

i put my outfit on today
i dressed myself today
i wipe my own ass
and i’m too old to write about
my mom today,

but she’s here to stay,
it’s nice that way.
i’m dressed to live
that life today.

“high socks”
©Steven Cuenca

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