An ill-fitting dress of somebody else's design

A girl, on a day not of her choosing,

is handed a dress made by others,

which disregards her tastes or preferences,

her likes and dislikes,

her freedoms of movement and of thought.

Weighted with it, sewn into it, denied any other but

the one that's laughed at,

the one that's leered at,

the one left in tatters through desperate attempts at alteration.

The one judged in mirrors, and meetings, and bedrooms.

The one which wears and unravels.

The one which is creased, patched and torn.

 

And is told once again the old lie:

You’ll grow into it.