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these girls fan over my melanin as if it were designer that they can try on and wear until they’re bored. snatch the skin off this mannequin, claw until they see fresh wounds, and wrap it around themselves.
Okay, I'll admit it, maybe I could try on a skirt or two, but is it so bad if I want to feel comfortable. I don't wear clothes to amuse you, I don't aim for perfection or style, I aim for comfort.
dear distraction, don't show your shoulders don't wear low shirts no open-toed shoes don't wear tank tops don't wear skirts no sandals, that's only for dudes
dear blue jeans, let me explain. i know this time has been difficult for you— you, punctual and monotoned, ten years with a dusty crooked-smile contractor who wore you like the period
Winding Strands of silken air, Rushing 'round my clothes and hair, Round and round the Earth they fly, Climbing high without a care.
Do not ask me what I was wearing My denim shorts were not an invitation Do not ask me what I was wearing My floral blouse did not have "YES" written on it Do not ask me what I was weaing
You're not the determination of myself worth
She's pretty. No matter how she styles her hair, No matter what clothes she wears, As long as she smiles. So am I.
The clothes I wear are colorful The clothes I wear are fun The clothes I wear are happy The clothes I wear are me When you look at me I hope you think high of me I don't dress down I dress up
In a miniskirt and tank top She walks down the street Head down, earbuds in, music off, cell phone in hand "Give me a smile sexy" "Come have dinner with me and I'll help you out of those clothes"
My love for fashion wildly grows, For everytime I walk into a store I cannot help, but buy more clothes; I shop, and shop until I snore. Blouses, skirts, and pants alike,
spicy brown mustard newsboy cap cream colored soft shirt rustic blue sky denim jeans shoes the color of grand canyon dirt.
We change our clothes we change our shoes we change our faces and see whats new. If i could change something in the world I would make you see through the eyes of the sky
I love you more than those Versace heels worn by January Jones. More that that Escada argyle sweater of neutral tones, More than that five-hundred dollar Chanel necklace and that vintage Gucci purse and heels.
Fat Girl in the buffet line,Fills half of her plat
Your legs were too skinny for your shorts The day you walked into the room, your cotton shirt About to billow, as if it could, on the unseen zephyr of your shoulders:
Don’t stare at my hips and thighs, my lips, my neck, with accusations in your eyes Don’t think your looks will make me cry and die inside and want to hide and fly on by mall-aisle five I don’t need your “pretty”