Outgrew

I wear my favourite t-shirt

It hugs me yet it hurts

I’m afraid my body has grown

Worse—

I’m scared it has always known

It used to fall around me softly,

like it remembered my shape

Now it clings too tightly

As if adding its weight to my nape

The collar crawls up my throat

Firm enough to silence me

The sleeves pull at my arm,

Restricting what was meant to be free

The tshirt rests against my chest—

not enough to steal my breath,

just enough to remind me of it

And never quite let me rest

And I sit there brooding:

About what I did wrong

Maybe I ate too much or walked less

And am afraid we no longer belong

Deeply invested in its woven threads

Mistaking release for abandonment

I tell myself - I will shrink again

To earn its quiet consent

My mother looks at me with care,

“Beta,” she says, “you grew up

It is not a moment of despair

Clothes are supposed to stop fitting

Trends are supposed to fade.

Don’t spend your life

trying to change yourself for something

When it was meant to belong to your older shade”