My Grandma's Shirt

Rummaging through my closet this morning, my eyes fixed on a black polyester shirt that once belonged to my Grandma Marge.

A year ago, she gave me her old shirt straight out of her closet. It had been hanging there for God knows how long. It's just a regular shirt with 3 pearl buttons at the top with a butterfly collar.

I decided that I was going to wear it today in hopes of collecting some kind of positivity from the very strong, independent woman who once wore it.

You know, I don't really feel any better, but this second hand shirt is really comfortable and soothing to me.


The root of the problem is that I hide behind other people's words - whether it's poem or song - and never come forward with how I really feel. I tried to depend on a stupid shirt instead.

To expose my intimate self will be the death of me.

But, fuck it, I want what I probably won't get and I crave all the complexity that comes with it.

Life is all about chance and choice. It is a dusty dirt road with ruts and bumps - right, wrong or otherwise, I'm going to live it.

Either way, I have to step out of my life as I know it.

Hmm... Where to start?