Size Six

just a poem of frustration

The denim glares at you atop a rag-tag pile

outfit, after outfit is discarded in a pile

hated, loved, wanted, despised

they slide so far and then you struggle

you're suck, you pull, you yank, you drag

you hold your breath an close your eyes

you clenched your teeth in frustration

that one little skirt just wouldn't slide on

over your hips you remember it fit

up the zipper would go

two months ago

and now the pale bleached denim

and sparkling sequins and faux diamonds

they glare at you, taunting you

mocking you on the pile of discard

Once more you reach, now with weapon in hand

it won’t pull up

it won’t slide down over arms, head and breasts

it refuses to stretch that inch or two more

and so the scissors they slice

snip, shred and cut

your revenge never felt so sweet

your tears never were so bitter

as you stood over the trash

methodically cutting up the skirt

the article of offense, the outfit so tiny, so cute

so you

now you stand in absolute tears

what have you done

for lack of two inches?
all it took was one size

and you lost your mind

perfection that size high school

that cute denim skirt

and pink puffed out blouse

the tight black leggings

and high-polished boots

and now you stand in silence

tears of frustration rage and agony

running down your puffed face

glaring down at the skirt.

“Look what you made me do”

you tell the skirt

and down you throw it in disgust

the clatter of scissors on the floor

a dull echoing ache in your ears

you crawl into bed once more

you cry yourself to sleep

all for a size six

Author's Note

this is a personal poem.