Who Really Cares About My Holes?

There’s a hole in my knickers,

Dear Liza, a hole,

and bigger it grows every day.

There’s more hole than pant,

and I try, but I can’t

seem to throw those damn panties away.

It’s not that I’m hoarding;

it’s a case of affording!

To waste just a penny, I mustn’t.

And so then, I figure,

“Though the whole’s getting bigger,

at least there’s naught wrong with the gusset.”

No, it’s at the waistband

and across the wasteland

of my belly the pants are threadbare.

Should things keep up apace,

it will soon be the case

that my pants might as well not be there!

The hole is quite wide,

and you can see inside

to my milky white skin, luminescent.

They still cover my bits,

yet it gives me the shits,

and the fabric’s almost evanescent!

Though I should give a care

‘bout my underwear,

and invest in some lingerie decent,

I can’t say I’m troubled

as I live in a bubble

by virtue of circumstance recent.

And as a result,

I cannot exult

in the thought of a dalliance sexy.

No, it is only me, then

who’s likely to see them,

thus I shan’t let my holey pants vex me!

©️ Jupiter Grant, 2021

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Jupiter Grant is a self-published author, blogger, narrator, and audiobook producer. Buy me a coffee here: https://ko-fi.com/jupitergrant

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