All the Parts in all the Plays

Describe yourself with the clothes you wear.

I am a skirt-and-corset girl, all old-school romance in reds and blacks and ivory. I am an opaque tights and short skirt girl, bordering on obscenity with a matte-red-lipstick mouth. I am pegged pants and band t-shirts pushed up against the black metal barrier in San Diego. I am wrinkled t-shirts and fuzzy socks slumbering. I am Halloween socks and argyle knee highs. I am black on black accented with lace. I am the most useless of clothes: coats and socks. I am dressed in shades of food, licorice and aubergine and honey and pomegranate and sugar and blueberries. I am found in the details of a neckline, a bead design, in buttoned cuffs. I am dresses over jeans and lace over nude satin. I am jeans and tank tops with paint stains. I am a stylistic re-interpretation of the layered skirts and bodices of Medieval women. I am scarves and belts low on hips. I am hats and scarves and gloves in the streets of small towns. I am color and cloth sewn together into costumes for all parts in all the plays in all these years.