I'm manufactured like hand-me-down clothes. Worn at the seams though I'm not old. Elastic stretched out, zipper caught on its own track, my buttons won't snap. The threads at my knees tear revealing scarred skin that won't disappear.
But I can roll the hems, unlatch the zipper, replace the buttons. And truthfully, I like the look of jeans with rips at the knees so what if it reveals me?
I wear the clothes of my mother and sisters what they loved is now mine to claim for it doesn't quite fit them anymore and perhaps some seams ripped but that I can fix so it will fit me.
The clothes I wear may not be new and hold old hopes that won't come true but it holds old love too.