Why do I want to dress up?
Perhaps to numb the reality
That keeps stinging in my chest
Making it hard to breathe.
Once I throw that costume over my head
Feeling the crinkly anticipation from the fabric
Feeling the brief whoosh of transforming into fantasy
I am released from my prison.
I can be whoever I want to be
I can do whatever I want to do.
No one will know that it's me
Huddling inside a huge husk of a facade
No one will question
Gently peel away layers
Until they see my fresh, cold scared face
It's fun being in the costume
Prancing around, laughing
But now I'm hot
And I'm getting tired.
Tired of people not knowing it's me.
Tired of me almost drowning my real self in the costume.
So tenderly I unravel my fantastical image
My unicorn stories, my macaroni-pasted memories
I hold out my hands to steady myself, and fear briefly wraps around me for a moment, pretending to be my mother. Pretending to comfort me so I can yield.
But I twirl it away. I look myself in the mirror and say so quietly, so delicate that it would not break,
"I love you."
And I leave with my costume wadded
On the floor.