Let me show you my new dress.
It was cheap.
wear and tear-article,
patchwork of crushed hopes
belonging to some little child
in a factory
you made this for me?
now I can stand here, in the roaring crowd
at the eye of the town square
tiptoeing all over the sharp stones of existence
showcasing just how normal, stuck-up and
indifferent I am
But then I bled trough.
It happened quickly.
I didn’t even notice the tear in the fabric
until some kid pointed at my stomach and laughed.
“Look! She’s wounded! She can’t even walk!”
his mother hushed him, dragging him away from me
“We need to be grateful for all we have,” she said.
I scurried home,
tears pouring down my cheeks
I locked myself in my bedroom and spent the rest of the day
wrapping myself up in linens
layer after woven layer,
would cover the fanged hole in me
and stop it from leaking
“Tomorrow,” I whispered to myself, “tomorrow I’ll be prepared.”
It all started out well
I was gliding trough the polished city streets
earning compliments on my exterior,
someone told me they wanted to take me home
slit my throat and fuck my corpse.
what do words mean anyway
An old woman came up to me and asked
just how I’d managed to become
so admirably ignorant
and was about to start explaining the basics of apathy
when I felt the fabric around my hips starting to melt
and the familiar scent of smoke
from underneath my skin
oh, why does everything dissolve like tendrils
like hot wax,
clogging my veins?
Now I am become transparent
the destroyer of contemporary fashion.
with nothing at all to cover my shame
I try out another shirt,
clothe myself in layer after layer,
each one adapting the shape of the previous
there’s no escape
cotton walls are like a bomb ticking around my waist,
reminding me of how much time I have left.
How thick would you like your armor today, Sir?
Make it wool,
make it silk,
or glimmering marble,
so I can be a statue,
a work of art.
Critics can stare,
nod, and pretend they understand what’s going on
as I’m standing naked on the town plaza
wearing the face