White tees. Tank tops. Bare arms.
Thoughts trail backwards—
my thinking cap worn in reverse.
I reach for a verse.
...but my Bible
is well-dressed in dust.
Some days I wear faith
like a sweatshirt— soft at first,
until pressure pulls at every fibre
and I want it off.
Peeling pride from my chest
should feel freeing—
...instead, I feel naked
in ways fabric never fixed.
Rags & Expensive tags —
another kind of poor.
Time wears us all thin, while we
keep wearing life’s heavy clothes—
stitched with ego, tailored by fear.
Dressed to survive.
...quietly undressed by truth.
Feb 14
Feb 14, 2026 at 2:38 PM UTC
White tees. Tank tops. Bare arms.
Thoughts trail backwards—
my thinking cap worn in reverse.
I reach for a verse.
...but my Bible
is well-dressed in dust.
Some days I wear faith
like a sweatshirt— soft at first,
until pressure pulls at every fibre
and I want it off.
Peeling pride from my chest
should feel freeing—
...instead, I feel naked
in ways fabric never fixed.
Rags & Expensive tags —
another kind of poor.
Time wears us all thin, while we
keep wearing life’s heavy clothes—
stitched with ego, tailored by fear.
Dressed to survive.
...quietly undressed by truth.
This poem explores the tension between faith and doubt, pride and vulnerability. Using clothing as metaphor, it reflects on how we wear belief, ego, and identity under pressure only to realize that time and truth eventually strip us down to who we really are.
Request permission to use this poem