deepundergroundpoetry.com
Undressing
she peered
eyes wide open
deeply into herself,
into the only mirror
that really matters
~anymore~
her nose wrinkled
at the reflection;
who the hell
had she become?
the woman staring back,
a stranger
wearing her mother’s shirt,
decidedly not her color
with its pattern of chaos
sewn into mismatched joining
and her father’s Sermon Tie,
fashioned like a noose
threatening to strangle
her words,
cutting off her breath
without warning
as was always his way
peeling back the layers
upon layers
of these
mass-cut garments,
meant for smooth congruity
and easily read labels -
she’d wanted that ease
of existence
~so badly~
she’d tried them all on
never taking them off again
completely -
even when it was clear
they weren’t a good fit,
even when they pinched
and bit at her skin
leaving her raw
and angry at her pain -
she’d endured their discomfort,
stretching and pulling
at the fabric
made of selling herself short;
of believing she had to cram
all of the Too Much
she’d been born with
into an ill-fitting Sunday dress
when God, how she hated
wearing dresses
even more than she hated
Sundays
one at a time,
she carefully examined
each of the seams,
seeing for the first time
the poor construction
not made to last;
especially not when
her curves caught
on every surface
and tore rough holes
in her borrowed identities;
she’d twisted this way
and that,
trying to force
her stubborn body
to conform,
feeling a crooked
sense of pride
whenever she managed
to look the part;
easily defined
whenever she was forced
to play dress-up,
like the doll on a shelf
she knew
she couldn’t be,
not for anyone -
she tried so hard,
but she’d never
really felt
much at all like herself
while wearing
someone else’s idea
of proper attire
it was on the eve
of the brand new year
that she decided
naked is better
than overdressed;
finally beyond
her threshold
for uncomfortable
in borrowed jeans,
and shirts
with extra buttons
meant to hide her
sinful nature -
they’d only succeeded
in holding her in
because they were so good
at holding her back;
she moved quickly now,
unzipping
and
unbuttoning,
letting them fall freely
down her body
~clinging~
to her arms and legs
in one last attempt
at providing
acceptable cover,
until every one
of the crumpled,
expensive reminders
of all the people
she’d tried to be
lay at her feet,
a voluminous puddle
of scratchy threads,
poorly cut on the bias;
stepping free and kicking
the whole pile
into the corner,
she turned and stared
at the girl she’d once been,
smiling in the mirror -
her cheek-to-cheek grin
as bare
and
unrestricted
as her soul
eyes wide open
deeply into herself,
into the only mirror
that really matters
~anymore~
her nose wrinkled
at the reflection;
who the hell
had she become?
the woman staring back,
a stranger
wearing her mother’s shirt,
decidedly not her color
with its pattern of chaos
sewn into mismatched joining
and her father’s Sermon Tie,
fashioned like a noose
threatening to strangle
her words,
cutting off her breath
without warning
as was always his way
peeling back the layers
upon layers
of these
mass-cut garments,
meant for smooth congruity
and easily read labels -
she’d wanted that ease
of existence
~so badly~
she’d tried them all on
never taking them off again
completely -
even when it was clear
they weren’t a good fit,
even when they pinched
and bit at her skin
leaving her raw
and angry at her pain -
she’d endured their discomfort,
stretching and pulling
at the fabric
made of selling herself short;
of believing she had to cram
all of the Too Much
she’d been born with
into an ill-fitting Sunday dress
when God, how she hated
wearing dresses
even more than she hated
Sundays
one at a time,
she carefully examined
each of the seams,
seeing for the first time
the poor construction
not made to last;
especially not when
her curves caught
on every surface
and tore rough holes
in her borrowed identities;
she’d twisted this way
and that,
trying to force
her stubborn body
to conform,
feeling a crooked
sense of pride
whenever she managed
to look the part;
easily defined
whenever she was forced
to play dress-up,
like the doll on a shelf
she knew
she couldn’t be,
not for anyone -
she tried so hard,
but she’d never
really felt
much at all like herself
while wearing
someone else’s idea
of proper attire
it was on the eve
of the brand new year
that she decided
naked is better
than overdressed;
finally beyond
her threshold
for uncomfortable
in borrowed jeans,
and shirts
with extra buttons
meant to hide her
sinful nature -
they’d only succeeded
in holding her in
because they were so good
at holding her back;
she moved quickly now,
unzipping
and
unbuttoning,
letting them fall freely
down her body
~clinging~
to her arms and legs
in one last attempt
at providing
acceptable cover,
until every one
of the crumpled,
expensive reminders
of all the people
she’d tried to be
lay at her feet,
a voluminous puddle
of scratchy threads,
poorly cut on the bias;
stepping free and kicking
the whole pile
into the corner,
she turned and stared
at the girl she’d once been,
smiling in the mirror -
her cheek-to-cheek grin
as bare
and
unrestricted
as her soul
Published 31st Dec 2019
Author's Note
Happy New Year ♥️
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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The author encourages honest critique.
31st Dec 2019 8:56pm
Happy New Year to you! I’ve been reading all your latest work and plan to get back over to comment, but I am enthralled with your flow-of-consciousness style and your authentic and vulnerable way of writing. It’s raw and beautiful; you have such a gift. I hope this new year brings you much love and many blessings ♥️.
31st Dec 2019 9:57pm
31st Dec 2019 11:32pm
What a way to close the year Luna. The write devours the page with the graceful strides, dance of shadow and light, of flames. The direct voice is engaging, the images you paint carry the message with clarity. There is so much moving in the nuances of your mien: bittersweet nostalgia of memory, the sense of your evolution of identity, the metaphors of shedding skins of expectation and conformity. It takes ability to weave with such spirit and economy that much is conveyed by a single thread.
1st Jan 2020 1:39am
Thank you for seeing, Daniel. I appreciate your always-thorough walk through my spills; I gain insight and perspective I didn’t posses 💜.
1st Jan 2020 1:10am
Excellent, Luna! Out with the old and in with the real, I say! This was a wonderfully woven metaphor ( analogy even ) that eventually we will break out of skin that isn't ours to wear! We are only at peace within our own skin - and this expresses that beautifully! O! But can't you say you tried?! You can also say you overcame!
1st Jan 2020 1:40am
Thank you so much, Ahavati. I’m such a big fan of the symbolic rebirth that comes with a new year; it has always served as a good point for reflection 💜.
1st Jan 2020 1:42am
I love the new year too, Luna! Such an exciting energy of hope despite whatever is happening ( for me, anyway ).
May yours be blessed with much love, happiness, and spiritual prosperity that matters! xo
May yours be blessed with much love, happiness, and spiritual prosperity that matters! xo
1st Jan 2020 1:57am
7th Jan 2020 7:55am
