Frumpy

I had two skirts that I wore to my grandparent’s church a couple of times a year

The rest of the time it was jeans and an oversized fleece

Until I was thirteen and started running, restricting, putting on blue, blue eyeliner

I turned femme in a summer

Sixteen and cycling to school with skirts and heels

Buying vintage dresses that cinched the waist

The more I couldn’t breathe the better

We all started wearing the elastic waist joggers during the pandemic, didn’t we?

I could see my underwire bras for what they truly were: a torture device

I wondered why I wore my pointy heeled boots for miles when they felt so horrible

No more cinching, my belly was made to expand

I don’t adorn my body with clothes that don’t serve me

But I’m still not free

And in fact

I’m in my era of feeling frumpy

Nothing feels or looks the way I want it to

Nothing is a reflection of my inner creativity

I’m hopeful this era will eventually end

And that I’ll see beauty in the mirror

Beauty in my adornment

An integration of all the parts of myself