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
 
Written by LunaGreyhawk
Published
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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