Don’t bury me in a dress or tux

I’d never wear those on my own

I don’t want to wear a starchy white dress shirt and black jacket

Or flowy white dress

I want to wear my baggy copper sweatshirt
The one i stole from my dad

The one with paint on the front 

The one that probably doesn’t actually look good on me

I don’t want to wear crisp black pants that are tight around my thighs and yet too baggy

Or skin colored tights

I want to wear my year old pajama pants

The ones with skulls and crossbones

The ones i got for $9 at Job Lot

The ones with no drawstrings because i brought them to the hospital

I don’t want to wear shiny shoes that don’t fit right over blank white socks

Or Mary Janes with their straps

I want to wear my dinosaur socks under my black doc martens

The socks with the Santa hats on the dinosaurs and the soft red lining on the inside

The shoes with scuff marks and scratches all over

The things i wear everyday

I don’t understand why we dress people up in things they wouldn’t have worn in real life just because they can’t say no

I don’t understand our need to make them seem better, more put together, than they probably were

No one can do that every day

What will tell of our realness?

Of the days we lounged around in old worn clothes?

Of the days we were too tired to get dressed?

Of the days we couldn’t try?

I don’t understand why we erase who they were, taking away their style because we’re the ones who will look at them before they’re never seen again.

You’d never see me in dress attire unless absolutely necessary, but I'll always wear my dad’s sweatshirt, my cheap pants, my Christmas socks, and my beloved boots.

If i’m going to be locked in a box for the rest of eternity, six feet underground, 

I’d just wanna wear something that’s not trying to make me seem better than I was.

I’m no better than Christmas socks on bones.