My Clothes

I don't want to be a neat pile of slacks shoved in a dresser drawer.
Each pair is like the one before.
I don't want to be a uniform.
I want to be a closet bursting with color.
Clothing of vibrancy from honey to an Irish sea.
Not a prisoner to a brand or design. 
I want to be a collection.
A painter with their paints.
Each color no restraints.
I
Wanna be all the things I love and what makes 
Me, 
Me.
A Sunday T-shirt and sweats, or a sleek date night dress.
I don't like the silhouettes of clothes packed in a box I must confess.
I am more than a uniform.
I wear many different suits, on different days
And that's OKAY.



It’s Not Me

Confusion is a lame excuse of a word for what I feel.
I'm mourning who I used to be because it's no longer me.
I'm celebrating who I used to be because it's no longer me.
How is it possible to feel two vastly different emotions? 
Like a beautiful bird then realizing it’s locked in a cage.
The worst of all
In five years I'm going to feel the same about now.