in which nothing i wear is put back in the closet

As for me,
I wear my pretty like a 5th season.

Shoulders sticking out from under the lace straps,
I wear my body like planting flowers in snow.

When I wear my body in public,
I wear it like apology.

And when I’m home, looking at my body in the mirror
is like trying to plant daisies in minefields.

I wear my body like a day-job.

I wear it like last season’s harvest
and I wish I was careful what I wished for
when I begged for rain.

I wear my body like a box in the attic.

Most if it is photographs,
most of which I cringe,
and I find it beautiful.

To be able to see your body,
without seeing yourself in it.

I’m still afraid of death but somehow
it comforts me to know that,

even as a ghost,
I lived so fiercely.

This is not my body.
But I wear it like a battleground.

And when dysphoria seizes me-
when I hear gunfire erupt from under my skin,

I dress my body like a minefield
and I wear it like a graveyard.

I wear my ghost like today.
And my body like tomorrow.

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