the dress

I don't usually write poetry because I- hmm, how shall I say this- suck at it. But I wrote this poem a while ago, and decided to share it. I welcome criticism, please don't hold back.


I didn't really like the dress.

It lay on the floor in a puddle, after I stepped out of it and left it there alone.

I had worn it that night, even though it was my mom's. It was green and had a

very high neckline but it was pretty short and it was tight enough that it was kind of hard to walk.

Everyone had said that I looked good in it, and

then I had to smile modestly as they said how tall I was and How beautiful I was,

And maybe I saw a little of what they saw because when I looked in the mirror I thought I looked pretty, even though I had only put on lip gloss and it had worn off by then.

Later when I took off the dress and changed back into sweatpants

I though that the dress had taken away my prettiness.

It was still waiting on the floor, expectantly,

as if I could just step back in it and all the people could come back and I would be able to look in the mirror

because I was wearing the dress.

The End

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