Eden’s Poetry

CHOOSING MY CLOTHES FOR A SPECIAL DAY

BY EDEN ELLIOT

I am choosing my clothes for a special day

A special day with my sisters, my dad, my sister’s husband

And the sad boy who once saved my life

Who knows all my secrets who held me while I cried

Falling apart and who was there for me when I had no mom

And lent me his own mom and gave me his heart and

Now I can’t look him in the eye anymore because look at me

And look at him so gorgeous he takes my breath away

Every single time I lose my words and not only that

He is strong and mature and amazing he is an actual man

I mean I should be nothing to him now other than a memory

Because I am broken but he’s still here—why? why? why?

Why on earth would he still be here after everything he’s seen?

And I love this skirt but it’s a sin to wear it isn’t it

It would show my knees and everyone knows, ok not everyone,

But I know that it’s a sin to wear your knees out for the world to see

Why? I don’t know but I was taught it and I believed it as

A good obedient little girl but I’m not her anymore but I still can’t wear

That skirt, so I’ll wear a pair of jeans, no, too casual, but then who cares

I shouldn’t dress for others I should dress for myself

But I only met myself a few days ago

Am still getting to know the girl in the mirror

No the jeans have to go they are a sin as well

The mirror is a sin of course it is vanity and all that. I myself am a sin

That’s what I’ve been taught and everything I want to do and love and like

My body my brain my thoughts my books all that I am

And long to be is a sin, there, I’ve said it. And now I’m crying

On the bathroom floor, away from the mirror the jeans and the skirt;

I can’t very well go to my own birthday party in only a shirt, right?

It would be stupid—let alone a sin. Besides, ok, a shirt, but which one?

Which shirt would not be a sin but also would not be a painful memory

Of a past that I can never forget which shirt how to do my hair so tha t

He will like it even though he is dead but he used to be my father

At least that’s what he said and he is not dead inside my head

He is alive and well and screaming that he is my real father I raised you

Look at all this money I’ve spent on you and unless you repent you—

My sister finds me crying on the bathroom floor

She asks if I’m ok and what on earth am I doing down there

And I say: ‘Choosing my clothes for a special day’.

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