You stand nakedalone in your roomlike a cradle.You step outinto the empty woods.You’re flying
then a person appears, then anotheruntil a crowd is around you.Without clothes of your ownyou don’t know howto stop them from dressing you.Uncertain, you stand stillas they pull dressesfrom their heavy bagsyank them over your head.
With this new identityyou follow the crowdeven if the cloth itchesthe sleeves are too tightit’s too loose in the waistthe color turns your skin ashen.You have boundaries, at least.You’re contained, at least.You start to forgetthese clothes belonged to them.
Alone again at midnightyou take off those dresseslet the air beyour no-boundary.
When you go out in the morningin those clothes you almost forgotwere hand-me-downsyou let them make the choicesthat might have been differentin different clothes.
You’re still naked underneath.One day, that nakedness will chafegrow raw in the tight placesoverheated in the looseand then you’ll tear them off.
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Photo by Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash