She jerks on the grey t-shirt

Inconspicuous, safe.

Then comes the sweatshirt

the jeans and worn sneakers

The good girl for her parents

the Never Sneaks Out

or smokes or drinks or cheats

Kind of girl.

 

In the hallway

she tugs on a bright yellow top

Yes I'm fine

Settling into her desk, pulling out a notebook

and donning a navy cardigan

A Straight-A, Front and center

Just what a teacher wants to see

Kind of girl.

 

And so she goes

Layer

after

Layer

of cotton smiles

gauzy laughs

Oranges and yellows and

Summer sky blues, because

who doesn't love to look at

That Kind of girl?

 

Who was so good at blending

and changing and Fitting like a Glove

that she forgot where she left

Herself.

Because somewhere along the line

she got buried under

That Kind of girl.

 

So now she digs,

claws and writhes under these layers

of choking color

that suddenly seem much too tight

Itchy like someone else's clothes,

Someone else's idea of what fits.

Could there still be flesh

A living, feeling, hurting

Kind of girl under

Layer

after

Layer?