Should you ever understand me you would know why melancholy is my favorite sweater; why it is I've kept this multi-shaded shag when it no longer fits, its strings waver loose in the air
around the length of my thighs, your finger sticks out at it as if I don’t know because it might make you uncomfortable, because you've never had strings wavering around your thighs,
and I get it, its collar itches my neck sometimes, it can make me uncomfortable too—but please,
don't think longer than a second about this at-times itch-inducing rag,
it's not yours to feel.
My melancholy sweater: it gives me warmth no different than from hugging a classy wooly mammoth, it's the color of a nose or flushed cheeks on a winter day or even ones colored with blush, and my favorite perfume—it lingers on it sweetly,
even after I wash it.
My melancholy sweater: I knitted it in one go until my hands turned numb, forgot it once on a trip to Disneyland but it showed back up at my doorstep, neatly folded,
its gold threads delicate and bare.
My sweet melancholy sweater—I couldn't ask it to be more
It is worthy of this poem, it is mine it is mine and I don't think I could ever give it away.
Yesenia Flores is 22, Latina, lives in Seattle, WA, and grew up in Portland, OR. She has been in recovery for 2 years now. She is now working on figuring out what she likes and what she wants to do with her life.