A suit of words

And all of my words are borrowed; like a poorly fitting suit, they sag and hang and never quite fit the way I wish they would. Nevertheless, I wear them repeatedly on my outings into the world of others. Again and again I clothe my body with their forms, and they begin to show mine. After repeated wearings, they grow thin, hems unravel, buttons pop off, and zippers give way, in the places where they endure the most friction, the most stress, and in the places where they are worn most closely. In the end, however, even if I tailor my suit of words to fit my form perfectly, all I’m really left with is a ready-made form, altered.