my dress

my end result is a
beautiful full-length dress
that clings to my mymy shape and
sparkles silver stardust
except for breast cups that annoy me like a clown
not that they’re meant as arm rests
useless but reaching out from my tentative body
Plotting puckish charm on the other guests.
don’t hug me. don’t look at me.
don’t ask me to dance.
i’m beautiful.
to the event, to the tee
threatening your eyes
my fear that your embrace may
invert me permanently
the aliens have landed
huge on my chest under where
my tiny hands wait in my lap.
you buy the paper and I’ll do the wrapping.
until the dance I can do without dress.

© lyw