I pull you out of the closet
Stashed there for a future
I’m not sure exists
It feels a lot closer now
But still so so so distant
I pull you out
Because I determine what’s appropriate
I made the rules
About when I can wear you
So I get to change them
And I do
I pull you out because
The lace at your neck makes me feel delicate
Like I have a long, slender throat
That all those old writers raved about
I slide you on
Waist cinching in
Zipper gliding up like butter
Hem dusting the tops of my thighs
My best feature in full display
I love how you make my arms look long and toned
Shoulders strong
Feminine
Intimidating
Beautiful
A set of pearls
Traditional and staid
But always make me feel so grown up and scandolous
A dichotomy
My favorite
I slide rings on my fingers
Carefully choosing who I’d represent today
After a year of naked hands
Trying to stay clean
To keep as few surfaces on myself that could harbor
This plague that so few seem to take seriously
I breathe out
Staying in
Keeping clean
I’m not giving them up
But I’m not giving up on me either
I won’t let it control me
I can be beautiful here, too
I look down at my stomach
Curving gently over my seatbelt
The high waistline of you tucked in
Under my chest
As if my stomach were this large mound
Even though
It simply exists
I look out the window
My thighs sticking to the seat
My legs I think so much of
Hair on them long
I just haven’t taken the time to shave
And I’m blonde
So it’s hard to see
And I wonder whether I care for me or all the eyes that I imagine notice
And whether or not it even matters
I’m screaming for validation
For someone to notice
I’ve gotten compliments
That I can’t feel
Sincerely meant
Appreciating me
How I look
But none of it counts
It never does
I stand in front of my mirror
Looking at me in you
Feeling the bloat from pasta
The weight from a year
Living in the stress of a global pandemic
Knowing you still fit
Seeing where the seams pull tight
Wondering if this is what everyone else saw
A stupid little girl
Wearing her mother’s pearls
Acting like she mattered
Like she deserved to be seen
As if she’s beautiful
I ask the girl
Why it matters what people say
And she tells me
I’m so tired of feeling beautiful
Only to find out I’m not
I feel like a fool
I feel like I’ve been had
I feel like I’m so disappointed to be me
That how I look and how I feel don’t match up
It’s jarring
It’s embarrassing
And I watch the little girl cry
Wearing a dress she got on sale
And has rarely worn
Because of made up rules
And fear of finding out a truth
That maybe we don’t get to be beautiful
That maybe this is as good as it gets
And I look in the mirror
And I tell the little girl
I’m sorry
I’m sorry that you have to live that way
I’m sorry you’re not taken seriously
That you don’t ever feel like your insides match your outsides
That you feel too wide and too flat
It must be so hard to want to be beautiful so badly
And think you can’t ever be
I’m so sorry
I unclasp my pearls
Slide off my rings
Slowly unzip my dress
Reverently placing each of these pieces
Of my external validation
On the counter
I look in the mirror again
What I see colored not by grace or loathing
Simply acknowledging
Simply accepting
Not loving
Not hating
Only hoping
That maybe I can be beautiful here, too
merely expostulating 