The Suit

There is a suit that hangs in back of your closet.
The clothes that you picture yourself wearing
when you periodically dare to picture yourself.

And when wearing your suit, you are
Smarter than your test scores show.
Wiser than your actions.
More capable than your list of accomplishments.
Funnier than your jokes.
More gregarious than your friends would want to admit.
More perceptive than that constant bruise on your forehead.
More sensitive than your clumsy hugs.

The suit is the you that you know exists
If you simply knew that it might fit.

But it's uncomfortable to wear a suit that is somewhat mis-sized.
And so it hangs in the closet
Untouched and unwrinkled.
It's easier to stare at it now and again
And keep it to yourself
Than to try it on and stretch it a little
Risking a laugh or two as you take it for a public stroll
Or maybe the occasional sprawl in the city sewer
With your ankles showing and your belt hitched too tight.
Until one day, perhaps one fine magnificent day,
You might grow into it
And find that the suit
Incredibly, indelibly
impossibly
fits you
after all