My Sweater
The old sweater I hadn't worn in awhile –
I snuggle into it and feel right
in its warmth and comfort.
I know I should forget about it.
I know I should let it go.
It's not my color.
It's not my size.
I can't see myself wearing it in public.
But when I put it on
and feel its coziness envelope me in
stupid sentiment,
and I breath in its familiar smell,
I don't see how I could ever give it away.
I don't see how
it could belong to anyone else
but me.
This poem is about:
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: