My Big Suit

Sometimes I feel so silly in my big suit.

I’m really only little. I don’t need this big suit.

People with big suits are supposed to do big things.

They are so convincing in their big suits.

For a while, I’ve been trudging around, trying to get somewhere in my big suit.

But I just can’t get anywhere, you see. It’s too fleshy and heavy and awkward.

And there are too many layers, you see. It makes it so I can’t breathe.

I remember when I had a little suit.

I remember I used to feel so much lighter.

Like the sun and the buttercups and my mother were all happy to see me.

Now they can barely see me at all.

Not in my big suit. It’s just my nose sticking out so I can breathe enough air.

I wonder when I’ll get to take off my big suit.

I wonder what that’ll be like.

I wonder if it will always feel so heavy.

I hope one day I’ll be strong enough for my big suit.

I hope one day I’ll get to feel light again.

And the sun and the buttercups and my mother will be happy to see me.

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