Who Really Cares About My Holes?
Thoughts on my threadbare underwear
There’s a hole in my knickers, Dear Liza, a hole, and bigger it grows every day.
There’s more hole than pant, and I try, but I can’t seem to throw those damn panties away.
It’s not that I’m hoarding; it’s a case of affording! To waste just a penny, I mustn’t.
And so then, I figure, “Though the whole’s getting bigger, at least there’s naught wrong with the gusset.”
No, it’s at the waistband and across the wasteland of my belly the pants are threadbare.
Should things keep up apace, it will soon be the case that my pants might as well not be there!
The hole is quite wide, and you can see inside to my milky white skin, luminescent.
They still cover my bits, yet it gives me the shits, and the fabric’s almost evansecent!
Though I should give a care ‘bout my underwear, and invest in some lingerie decent,
I can’t say I’m troubled as I live in a bubble by virtue of circumstance recent.
And as a result, I cannot exult in the thought of a dalliance sexy.
No, it is only me, then who’s likely to see them, thus I shan’t let my holey pants vex me.
Jupiter Grant is a self-published author, blogger, narrator and audiobook producer.
Inquiries and comments are always welcome. You can also find me on Twitter @GrantJupiter
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