Simple choice you make in the morning. Throw on something and head out the door. But… clothes mean something more to me. They’re little bastards.
My memories were woven in the strands. I literally burned clothes two years after we were together. I thought it might bring some type of closing if I didn’t have to see it anymore. Instead it seemed like a viking funeral for who I use to be. I thought that donating my clothes might make it seem like an offering to someone else. Until my mom pointed out that it’s my favorite shirt, and my stomach lurched realizing- I did love wearing that shirt. That’s the past though right? By now I’ve grown out of all the clothes and changed my style.
But my memories are soaked in the dye. There is no blind grab and go in the morning. Instead I give myself twenty minutes. To like something. Look in the mirror, realize it’s a little tight on my chest. Think only about my chest. Think I’m getting bigger. Change. Look in the mirror, realize a low cut was a bad idea. Threw the shirt in the back of my closet, changed again. Decide that I want to hide behind a hoodie and a long sleeve shirt.
Sweat in class and wish I could have just wore that simple T-Shirt I had started with.
I know some girls can run through clothes trying to find the best look they can have, but I look for the best thing to hide behind. Long sleeves. Loose shirts. Never low cut. Basketball shorts if it gets too hot. Sweats if it’s real bad.
Last week I sat unhappy with my confidence and realize “Hide behind a hoodie.” and I did. Sometimes I wish I could shop till I drop.
I’d by dark red dresses, and beautiful little black dresses. I’d find shirts that I could dance in. I’d find shorts where my legs looked damn good. I’d find the perfect pick me up bra. With the perfect wear with a T-Shirt bra. I’d buy panties. (I laugh a little) I’d buy something flashy. Something vintage. Something retro. I’d buy enough hippie skirts to wear a new one everyday. I’d buy something showy for the days when I felt sassy. And I’d wear all of it. Knowing that I am me and this is what you get what you see. Instead my closet is filled with free-shapless shirts. Jeans. Boys basketball shorts.
Sometimes I just want to kick myself.