this is me,
from my hand-me-down clothes
with faded cats on the hem, and a
hint of a brownish stain on the sleeve,
pants that don't fit in the morning
and falling loose at the end of the day
slippers with miles on their worn, road-carved soles.
i say, they are fine,
memories and tastes of people suit me
my personality wears them
even better than they ever could.
i hate the bright white lights
i say, they are fine,
memories and tastes of people suit me
my personality wears them
even better than they ever could.
i hate the bright white lights
in dressing rooms
and mirrors that shows every bump and
dimple too up close
and impersonal.
i hate picking out
something to love in between
hundreds of clothes,
hanging like skins drying out on a rack,
and seeing it on me.
too tight, too big.
my skin too pale and uneven under
the light. curves in wrong places.
shadows under my eyes.
and this is me.
you say:
their fine.
don't be silly
you need new clothes.
and mirrors that shows every bump and
dimple too up close
and impersonal.
i hate picking out
something to love in between
hundreds of clothes,
hanging like skins drying out on a rack,
and seeing it on me.
too tight, too big.
my skin too pale and uneven under
the light. curves in wrong places.
shadows under my eyes.
and this is me.
you say:
their fine.
don't be silly
you need new clothes.