why is it that when I put on my dress today,
I thought of everyone but myself.
a simple dress,
a blue dress,
a dress that hugs my body and
doesn't reach my knees.
a dress I am comfortable in.
why is it that when I leave the house
I wonder what people will think of me,
how they'll judge me.
why is it that I am tugging at the ends,
desperate to prove that it's
appropriate.
why is it that my unshaven legs
cause me to feel nervous and
unfinished.
why do I feel out of place
wearing something suitable for a sunny day.
why does my stomach feel full and intrusive,
even though I haven't eaten today,
and I'm thinking of
keeping it that way.
why do I catch myself seeing if I meet
the fingertip rule,
even if I've been away from a dress code
for three years.
why does my dress feel like a symbol
of everything I am fighting for.
to be accepted in my own skin,
no matter how much you can see.
to be able to wear my clothes
without the fear of people burning holes in them
with their judgemental eyes.
to show myself in every form,
whether I am pampered and preened
or too busy to be perfect.
to be myself
in a world that is fighting
so damn hard
to push me into a mould,
to dress my like a doll,
to own me like a pet.
in a world that is fighting
to keep me from
being me.
