#tshirt
go ahead,
be an idealist,
Not Nat’s problem
thankfully
got enough just being a delusional realist
Mar 29
Mar 29, 2026 at 10:51 AM UTC
in my own mind;
au contraire,\to be fair
if i get up to
medi ochre
I’m so embarrassingly pleased
generally,
gotta lie down
and take a nap
after a violent
sneeze
as self punishment
for my outrageous egotistical
shame shame shame
on me he he
~~~~~
will somebody put this
on a t-shirt & pleeze
and mail it to me?
Mar 29
Mar 29, 2026 at 9:41 AM UTC
im addicted to you
to your laugh and your smiles
your "i havent seen you around in a while" 's
and i've made most of it up in my mind anyway
i romanticize the little things
like your bedroom and the way your t shirt clings
i can see our future so clearly its scary
its not happily ever after by any means
but its enough for now
its enough for us in our teens
Feb 20, 2022
Feb 20, 2022 at 12:47 AM UTC
_Me,
Standing
Underneath
A swamp cypress
******* at an orange while the rain falls
~
Tacky fingered and smelling of citrus
T-shirt front stained
Warm with juice,
I taste
You._
Dec 24, 2021
Dec 24, 2021 at 3:13 AM UTC
things in life always seem to change so fast
and i myself am remarkably unstable
so i keep the little things, never let them change
because without those tiny details
i might end up someone else entirely
Nov 20, 2020
Nov 20, 2020 at 2:40 PM UTC
why do you go to sleep in t-shirt and no bottoms?
he asks after years of
le marred marriage age
why for modesty and as a
sign of respectful readiness,
naturally!
gazing upon me, you’ll see my x-small size,
tight bright pink v-necked t-shirt from Old Navy
making you reflect, my dear,
that this particular woman
is one confident sailor
gazing upon me, you’ll see my naked pure
intentions undoubtedly at the ready
per my
Girl Scout training,
“Be Prepared”
whenever help is needed^
making you reflect, my dear,
that this lady scout could probably
start a fire easy with just
one handy stick
and you,
‘rubber suit’ matching
my nighttime costume,
when our “couture au lingerie,”
exhibits a happy styling similarity
Jul 16, 2019
Jul 16, 2019 at 12:41 AM UTC
everyone misses
the old me
and i swear,
i promise,
i’m trying so hard
to be her.
i’m trying so hard.
but it’s like
putting on your old
favorite t-shirt
and it just…
doesn’t seem to fit anymore.
May 4, 2019
May 4, 2019 at 11:48 AM UTC
Para las flores
Para las ropas
El collar
Y el anillo
Todos los regalos que me traerías
No significaba una maldita cosa
Por los besos
Por los abrazos
Los paseos en coche
Y las cenas que compartiríamos
Todo vino con un precio
Que tendría que pagar
Ahora que hemos terminado
Me quedo con todo
Todos los recuerdos
Toda la basura
Y no quiero nada de eso
Nuestro tiempo puede haber sido corto
Pero no fuimos hechos para durar
Así que, gracias por nada puta
Por favor, toma todo de vuelta
For the roses
For the clothes
The necklace
And the ring
All the presents you would bring me
Didn’t mean a god **** thing
For the kisses
For the hugs
The car rides
And the dinners we would share
All came with a price
That I would have to pay
Now that we are through
I am left with it all
All the memories
All the junk
And I don’t want any of it
Our time may have been short
But we weren't made to last
So, thanks for nothing *****
Please take it all back
Dec 11, 2018
Dec 11, 2018 at 8:40 PM UTC
If I wasn't too black to wear in the sun when the skies are blue. Maybe a different colour would fit.
If I wasn't so thin to keep you from winter morning cold & chill. Maybe a jacket is all you need.
If I wasn't fragile made for wind to blow me when you hang me on the line. Maybe a peg will hold me up.
If I wasn't made of cotton to get wet when it pours on you skin. Maybe an umbrella will do that.
Maybe then you will wash, bleach, iron and put cologne on me.
Until then I am your T-shirt.
Just a T-shirt.
©Sacred Johnson
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 6:26 AM UTC
And there I felt a sense of elation.
Seeing it for the first time.
A sense of interest.
Soft spoken, somewhat political.
Funded by interest.
The likes and dislikes of what lures the climate of smile.
It felt surreal.
A breath of fresh air.
A simple reminder of the smallest thing.
Not once did it feel that it was too much.
Not once did it feel that it was vain.
Off beat.
Watching episode after episode,
Subtle unsubtle laughs.
The gist of different references.
Spontaneous in the avenue of conversation.
I drove to get a second look. Then once more around.
The freedom of advertisement.
Officially elected in detailed statement.
A festival of sorts.
I would turn the corner and see all of my favorite characters
represented by my most favorite character.
To compliment surprise her cheeks rose like a billboard.
If marketing research counts, I was instantly sold.
Finding she was a avid merchant.
Her infinite knowledge for detail.
The gap bridged between listening and speaking.
A new experience to a different sector of my brain.
The rescue of a struggling smile.
A festival of bright smiles and laughs.
Corners of strong jawline and spontaneous conversation.
It was incredible.
Catching the most important reference,
My favorite character in life.
Wearing a Bob's Burger t-shirt
Granting smile in a instant
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 9:45 AM UTC
a t-shirt. one that is a terrible color.
my mom's least favorite, burnt orange.
it shares a disgusting likeness to rust.
and yet my dad would wear it everyday.
regardless of everyone around him's distrust.
"no one would dare to wear that in public"
my mom said, she was wrong.
perhaps when she married him she was not aware
of my dad's inexplicable connection to
this terrible color, or to t-shirts in general i guess
for about six out of the seven days a week regardless
he would be wearing that same shirt
for the almost 20 years they have been married
he can be found wearing that same shirt
however, there's a slight misconception
he doesn't have just one shirt
he has dozens of those nasty burnt orange colored shirts
and i suppose i forgot to mention that it's to support a football team
which seems shallow in theory but the aforementioned is
non-other than the texas longhorns.
my dad grew up there and attended college there.
he wasn't even a part of the team, and yet
for the last 35 years he's been wearing that same shirt.
i simply can't understand his undying affinity
i barely recognize the mascot of our own school team.
there is a certain dedication, a certain love that he must feel towards this place, towards that team.
however as i'm writing this poem i simply can't ascertain what it's all supposed to mean?
texas, a place of southern accents, cowboys, and racism.
not somewhere i typically tend to associate with even
though it was the place where i was born in
on a Tuesday almost 17 years ago at about 1pm
and of course i arrive
too early for my own good,
so i stayed in a hospital in ICU until they said i could
be taken home to a house i barely remember.
i wouldn't call that place home.
and yet, my dad wearing another variation of his classic burnt orange t-shirt today
that reminds me that's where i came from
i came from burnt orange beginnings.
and even though i might live in a blue ocean paradise as of now.
that's not where i started.
i tell myself that i am so much more that the place my life began in.
so instead of loving where i started and the color that comes with it.
i continue to despise that burnt orange color and compare it to rust
and all other things that fill me with unexplainable disgust.
but in the spirit of honestness. i don't hate it as much as i contest
don't ask me about it however because for sure all i’ll do is protest
but even when i was little seeing that orange shirt and big black car
arrive in the driveway of my old school was truly the best
looking for that ugly orange shirt at the end of the day when he always asked me what i had learned
hugging that terrible orange shirt when i'm crying
after scraping my knee on the concrete
taking car rides with that orange shirt seated beside me
that seemed as long as a lifetime to go see the turtles on the north shore
after watching him present himself at a showing of a house we could never afford
watching that orange shirt fumble and stumble teaching me to drive
fixing my air conditioner with this orange shirt at 2am
after a nightmare session that left me too rattled to sleep
that orange shirt who attends these loud rock concerts that he doesn’t necessarily enjoy simply to watch me be happy
that awful orange shirt that has seen me sad and happy and everything in between.
you know seeing that orange shirt for nearly every day of my life
has conditioned me
and truly i hate it, the dustiness, the rustiness of it all.
it’s disgusting, appalling and above all terrible.
but for some godforsaken reason i also love it.
i love it with my entire heart,
i truly love that stupid orange shirt for all of its awfulness
and logically i know it's not the shirt but the person inside.
because my dad is one of the most amazing people
i know and i hate to admit
but that color has grown on me, because of him
it's become home to me,
it's my dad.
and maybe i'll never figure out why
my dad loves his college football team so much
maybe i don't need to
what i know is that while burnt orange may be a truly terrible color,
it's become home to me.
May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 4:37 AM UTC
you are so lovely in your wicked ways
you are heavy
i can feel it, so can the room
everyone is waiting for that pause
the one you find yourself existing in
you are so lovely in your wicked ways
finding the quirks
the imbalanced romanticism in their dialect
'yeah, i’m a southern boy'
the kind you swore you’d stay away from
you spent too many nights with knights at rogue water
underage but over your limit
oh boy, that patagonia
slinging country song quarters into the jukebox
take me home!
you are so lovely, even in your wicked ways
do you like country music?
he turns left for the freeway
do you know how to drive stick shift?
you are so lovely, even in your wicked ways
i didn’t fold her laundry
she left my XXL t-shirts without wrinkles
pink, without wrinkles
you are so lovely in your wicked ways
he mixes a couple of drinks for you
reaches to grab your hand from across the bar
seared by the tea-light candle
i waltzed out of that bar like i had him
he is small and beautiful with a temper
i could love him all while hating him
i’m just a gal whose nose bled
after falling into his bed (more than once)
more than once
Feb 16, 2018
Feb 16, 2018 at 12:13 AM UTC
Spinning under the moon in your t-shirt- fireflies and windy songs flew around us while we danced.
Kisses under the stars and hand holding while we moved to your favorite song on the radio right now.
You and your smile always making me melt.
You and those eyes, always burning holes into my blush filled cheeks.
The way your hand felt on my lower back and the other one in my hair.
There was something about wearing your t-shirt to bed the scent of you washing me of all bad dreams I could ever have.
Oct 3, 2017
Oct 3, 2017 at 11:47 AM UTC
The t-shirt
You sleep in
Is mine.
Jun 1, 2017
Jun 1, 2017 at 8:51 PM UTC
Your scent lingers
On this black fabric
That was once yours
But gave it to me
In the most unexpected time
The sweet yet manly scent
Never fails to entice me
Never fails to arouse me
And now this article
Of clothing is in my possession
I can now wear it
Or even cling to in my sleep
Whenever I long for you
Whenever I miss you
Whenever I need you
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 9:55 PM UTC
I've been trying to convince myself
that I'm okay.
But your favorite tshirt is stained
with my blood.
And I know
I've been lying to myself.
for a long time.
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 1:49 AM UTC
I remember you wore that shirt when we would stay in long nights together.
It made me feel so safe, seeing you decorated in those perfectly stitched designs.
In your sleeves you would wrap me and tell me everything would be fine next time.
Your collar was a burying ground for my secrets. But now it's just a target for my tears.
That shirt reminds me of when you spoke to me softly as my panic attacks turned to night terrors and I was terrified to shut my own eyes.
I remember when I put on that shirt.
With the red collar.
You begged me to get into bed with you.
You clothed my fears with the cotton nooses of your wardrobe.
I thought I cut them off and destroyed the straight jackets in your closet
They could never hold me down again.
You're wearing that T-shirt.
Without me.
but Somehow,
I still can't breathe.
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 10:12 PM UTC
Her face, flawless and filtered, flows over
my chest, ribs, stomach, hips, fitting the curved
mounds of my body, and even within simplicity
of thread and dye, I sense her presence as her face
hangs from my frame, a statement louder than pillow-lips,
Nancy Sinatra-hair and a glamorous 60’s ***** face.
When paired with leggings and an artfully-distressed denim jacket,
I become a member of the “freshman generation of degenerate
beauty queens,” a hipster fallen to the circumstance of youth,
but I wear her face and the romance of it all reminds me:
we are not defined as Lolitas lost in the hood, or distant,
airy voices in a sea of crude jokes and half-baked skits
meant to highlight shortcomings of a person who doesn’t give
two ***** Lana fits me better than my ribbed, red
sweater and even amidst gods and monsters,
this T-shirt makes pretty last, and I am just as cool.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 12:33 PM UTC
while I may do you perfectly. the snow angels on gasoline st., did you
see them? All of the houses were dripping wet too, one girl with gold laces on her leopard shoes wore red plastic pants; totally soaked to the bone.
to train ourselves to brave the heat of each others' bodies as we awaken in one small bed, one small blanket. the both of us yawn. it's so fun to make waffles but neither of us like to eat preference. I love you to death but prefer to brush my teeth alone- one tooth at a time.
embrace your new t-shirt, even though not everyone enjoys a good show of a flock of crows. hand drawn indie wicker-hipster prints. coffee by the pint. you crack me up like vitrifying glass sheens of the individual bubbles in a bubble bath or the ****** glazed eyes of the monsters' eye while a shark attacks.
creaky sounds of bodies mapped by fingers, tickled tummies rippled by listening to witch house singers. you crack me up, count chocula. It's Saturday, I love to laugh while laying down. everybody's funnier when they're laying on the ground. we toast to ghosts.
luminous lengths of birthday candles
lickediddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd d 0 y0urself as best you can
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 3:55 AM UTC