Dingy Shirt

I feel used, abused

Run down and bruised

My “fellow friends”

They lack compassion

They toss me aside like

I’m not in fashion

Yes, that in accurate

When some have worn me

Like their favorite shirt

Where there are food stains,

Lip gloss, oil, and dirt

Although I am washed,

I can still see

The impression and marks

They left upon me

But then there are

Others who wear me on special occasions

And keep me locked up

For the time it takes a grape

To become a raisin

They only acknowledge my

Friendship when we are alone

They tell me secrets,

I shouldn’t have known

I now carry their “burdens”

but sometimes I don’t mind

being like Atlas who carries the globe

But I am definitely not pleased with

Being the shirt in their wardrobe