Only up to a point. Eventually it’s just too late.

I decided to look at some posts this morning and find one fairly randomly and respond. The winner (a fairly dubious honour, to be sure) was Cheryl who drew attention to the various choices of clothing that one may be confronted with on any particular day – though her chosen models all seemed to be preparing for the beach. I think her premise is that there comes a time when comfort is the only real consideration.

But one cannot help but reminisce about days when it wasn’t so.

******

This sack of skin. This walking curse

That clothing makes look somehow worse

It limps around. It shuns the light

It keeps the truth withheld from sight

It breaks the mirror, looks away

Within your view it cannot stay

Within your reach it shall not be

You cannot feel what you can’t see

 

For what is clothing, but a mask?

That hides the question you won’t  ask

And makes of which you cannot see

A poorly hidden mystery

A camouflage from foot to neck

To decorate this hulking wreck

I wear a cloak till daylight fades

I hide inside. I pull the shades

 

My aching back. My shaking knees

My life. This inescapable disease

My body. Shoddy. Wasted breath

Stranded between birth and death

A place where lovers used to dance

No longer worth a second glance

No more tempting to your taste

Where once you lay, now laid to waste

 

The moles, the holes, the battle scars

From nights it stayed and played in bars

To laugh and love. To lie. Pretend

That the day would never end

So now this sack, these shaking knees

Are carrying the memories

But there tis no mask, no cape, no clothes

With which I’d ever cover those.