I don’t know what to do with this anger
This old suit
I picked up at a family estate sale
Or simply picked up off the side of the road on a whim
I don’t really know
Or really care for that matter

Because regardless it sits
In my basement
Or sometimes my attic
Collecting dust
On special occasions
Like funerals or lonely nights
I drag it out in front of my mirror
It never quite fits like it should
The sleeves hemmed short with wishing
The shoulders over padded with grief
All accented by uneven pinstripes of regret

It was never a good look on me anyway
I always needed to cinch the tie a little too tight
As if I needed to tie these things to me
Because I don't really wear anger the way it’s supposed to be
More like a cheap rental
Or a hand-me-down from someone a size too big
Or something patched over so many times maybe it should be called something else

But I still have this suit
So I keep it dry cleaned
Fold it up nice and neat and tuck it away
To collect more dust, more patches
Maybe next time a special occasion rolls around
I’ll forget about it, wear something better suited for once