When you said you didn't like my poem you added,
"Now you know how I feel when I show someone my socks."

But do your wear your socks like I wear my soul?

Wool,
threaded and
worn,
much like cliches and silly love poems.

I can't buy a new one at Wal Mart.
I can only live with one pair
until one stops pumping
on to the last thread,
frayed
with more conviction than the rushed mornings, the warming by the fireplace, the ode by Neruda, the searching for
mismatched heart and soul,
cheaper and uglier than a tie.

It's not like I could just put on a pair of white ankle highs and call it awesome.