the little red dress
Waves at me from the closet
Its made of silk and soft
If I twirl in it I become a rose
I put one leg in
And then the other
I pull up the dress but it doesn't fit like it used to
I have grown
This small thing affects me more than it should
My belly shows round
My imperfections stick out against the red fabric
I have gained
That is not okay with me
YOU ARE READING
Mascara Stains
Poetryand as the last tear rolled down her mascara-stained cheek, she decided to write.
