Poetry from Brianna Dawn.

Hangers in the Closet

i bought a lot of makeup but none of it compares
to the shit i cake on my hips and tits over my underwear
one top says “i just don’t give a fuck” for just twenty dollars
while the others say “actually, but i do care”
with properly ironed collars
don’t get me started on my tights that wring their wrists
around my thighs, but do ask me about the blouse
i bought that brings out the green in my eyes
i hate wearing cardigans that roll off my shoulders
i wish i were brave to weather leather pants to prove some
sort of worldly boldness,
i believed as a child, desire was stacked up
behind the rhinestones and the curves
but school taught me
if you dress politely,
you “get what you deserve”
so here i am, hanging it all up to dry, these weakened
threadbare cottens, that in the end bring no flattery
to what’s already rotten

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