We used to think that what we wore in public really mattered.
No one wanted to appear in clothing ripped and tattered.
But now it seems the custom is to vintage-up our fashion
like it has been ripped apart in the throes of passion.
Everywhere we go, bare skin is brashly popping out
as though we can’t afford new jeans and it’s a thing to flout.
When we gain weight we do not have to buy a bigger jean,
we simply use our scissors to augment the space between!
Old men shake their heads in shock and nearly lose their dentures,
and yet these wanton ladies draw their looks as well as censures,
for when they rouge their cheeks, they do not deal with only two.
Now they have to prep four cheeks for the world to view.
I worked on this poem for over an hour and when I tried to add an illustration, I lost it all! Nowhere to be found. Nowhere in drafts. Yes, a bit of cussing. I don’t know about you, but after I’ve written something, I forget it completely, so I had to start out again from scratch. This time it went more quickly, though, and although it is generally the same idea, you know what they say about the one that got away!
This time I’m copying it into my sticky notes before I try to save and illustrate it. This is the first time I haven’t done so in a long time and now I remember why I always did so! Image found on the internet. No credits given.