Bursting forth at the seams, her dress fit too tightly.
Overwhelmed and overburdened with affectation,
The buttons popped, the zipper broke.
Another Christmas Day, full and rich.
No longer able to fit into these clothes,
How will she dress?
What adornment, what accessories can
Continue to hide her vehemence, her fear and rage?
A suit of armor, a bikini, or a straight jacket?
An aging hippie dress, or inappropriate leggings
That may show her age but not good taste.
What outer layer can envelope her?
Perhaps a cloak, a drape, a poncho,
Scarves wound round and round,
Gloves for hands and boots for feet,
At least she won’t get cold.
At least she won’t get cold.
Protected and enclosed, she enters the next
Party, smiling in agony and anxiety,
Misery, tears and hope.
Maybe this gathering will be better.
Alas, the people attending this party are
No better than the ones at the last.
Maybe she should just be by herself,
At home, isolated, withdrawn, alone.
Entering into this safer world, she cries out
Wanting, longing for love and comfort,
Hating the way she is, so sensitive and
Pained by every day life.
Her pets are good company, nurturing her well.
A good book plays the music of
Her soul, getting through another holiday,
Another time, another life.
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