Ode to socks

(Anyone that knows me can attest to me being a bit mental. Here’s some proof. I found this in an old notebook, a silly poem written in the margins of my high school French homework, 11 years ago.)


My socks are warm and fuzzy

They were passed down to me from my favorite cuzzy

Sometimes they smell fresh and other times just smelly

I often wear them when I make toast and jelly

I don’t know what I’d do if I ever lost them

Or if they started to unravel at the toe hem

I went back to school to get my socks a degree

But they were too uneducated and tried to attack me

So I stomped really hard and crushed them to the floor

And then tossed them straight out of the door

That was the day that my socks died

I never really cared and I haven’t really cried


7 thoughts on “Ode to socks

    1. My modern self is still very very silly..on days when I’m not so oppressed by the world’s fascination with crushing me. Maybe the world needs a good pair of socks.

      1. …oh…so you don’t want the magic socks I just bought okay

        “Hi pretty Californian girl, I bought some magic socks for my friend but she refused them. They’ll help you in thr darkest of moments!”

        “erm… yes my hotel is only 2 mins away… why?”


      2. So….refusing magical socks helps get you laid by sexy cali girls. Then I refuse them profusely and accept my award as best wingman of the century.

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