socks

I have a confession more pathetic than the one before,

one that grapples to my insidious core:

I am sock conscious.

There's no way of knowing if they're too high,

since I'm always resisting the urge to be that guy

who's in a constant state of looking down.

I can't stand when these woven prisons are soft,

since my feet are quite shy, and they do oft

make muffled cries in the heat.

And though color isn't my style (I feel it's too much),

my dull white socks could be the crutch

that keeps me from being joyous.

So if we continue to sit around talkless,

girl, tomorrow I'm greeting you sockless.