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Bluer on the Other Side

Each day a little more frayed,
A little more ripped,
A little more hard to put on.

She sees mine.
Untorn.
Bejeweled.
Perfect.

She wants them but hasn't worn them.
She has no idea.
The frays begin inside,
And slowly my jeans unravel.

Author notes

about blue jeans... or is it??

Please tell me what you think

    I plan to revise this poem: please leave constructive criticism!
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