my mother’s jeans

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I got complacent. 

I let myself sit on the curb and cry,

smoke a whole pack,

sleep with the guy in the bar with the dark eyes watching me. 

He left bruises and left me on the curb. 

I let my ass get a little too big for my jeans and I cut my hair short. 

I became soft like a woman for a minute, like my mother but

not like her; her jeans will always fit. 

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