clothes
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What were you wearing is a dead question. It leads to no solution.
should I tell you my frumpy pants hanging on my frame were illicit? That
a shirt she bought a Mormon girl was too revealing, her body too explicit?
these girls fan over my melanin as if it were designer
that they can try on and wear until they’re bored.
snatch the skin off this mannequin,
claw until they see fresh wounds,
and wrap it around themselves.
Okay,
I'll admit it,
maybe I could try on a skirt or two,
but is it so bad if I want to feel comfortable.
I don't wear clothes to amuse you,
I don't aim for perfection or style,
I aim for comfort.
dear distraction,
don't show your shoulders
don't wear low shirts
no open-toed shoes
don't wear tank tops
don't wear skirts
no sandals, that's only for dudes
dear blue jeans,
let me explain.
i know this time has been difficult for you—
you, punctual and monotoned,
ten years with a dusty crooked-smile contractor
who wore you like the period
Winding Strands of silken air,
Rushing 'round my clothes and hair,
Round and round the Earth they fly,
Climbing high without a care.
Do not ask me what I was wearing
My denim shorts were not an invitation
Do not ask me what I was wearing
My floral blouse did not have "YES" written on it
Do not ask me what I was weaing
She's pretty.
No matter how she styles her hair,
No matter what clothes she wears,
As long as she smiles.
So am I.
The clothes I wear are colorful
The clothes I wear are fun
The clothes I wear are happy
The clothes I wear are me
When you look at me
I hope you think high of me
I don't dress down
I dress up
In a miniskirt and tank top
She walks down the street
Head down, earbuds in, music off, cell phone in hand
"Give me a smile sexy"
"Come have dinner with me and I'll help you out of those clothes"
My love for fashion wildly grows,
For everytime I walk into a store
I cannot help, but buy more clothes;
I shop, and shop until I snore.
Blouses, skirts, and pants alike,
spicy brown mustard newsboy cap
cream colored soft shirt
rustic blue sky denim jeans
shoes the color of grand canyon dirt.
We change our clothes
we change our shoes
we change our faces
and see whats new.
If i could change something in the world
I would make you see through the eyes of the sky
I love you more than those Versace heels worn by January Jones.
More that that Escada argyle sweater of neutral tones,
More than that five-hundred dollar Chanel necklace and that vintage Gucci purse and heels.
Your legs were too skinny for your shorts
The day you walked into the room, your cotton shirt
About to billow, as if it could, on the unseen zephyr of your shoulders:
Don’t stare at my hips and thighs, my lips, my neck, with accusations in your eyes
Don’t think your looks will make me cry
and die inside and want to hide
and fly on by mall-aisle five
I don’t need your “pretty”
