I washed my old jeans

(for people who let go)

I pretended it wasn’t dirty

letting go

but I couldn’t ignore the voice on my head

like pungent smell-scrub scrub it said

my waist loved it

big faded blue

my legs loved them

my crotch loved it too

I put axe on my heavy heart

it was more than seen

covered in rough dirt

my jeans needed washing

all that stains

rough falls, the  dust

all that pain

I love my jeans

it sustained

with the very fact that it was old

and torn, i fell in remorse

it even smelt like me

I think it had started

to kinda look like me

 we travelled together

we hid in places

we shared stories

we made faces

we accompanied each other through boring days

and raced on together through

the exciting race

there is a special thing about my old jeans

I wouldn’t like to wash it

because it hold me

it knows me

it feels what i feel

but now the journey is too rough

time to get real

life is tiring us all

no more play I do

I cry in loss

I must bid good-bye to you

Today i washed my old jeans

there goes its beauty

forever far away from me.

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