White Dress

I once was a starched white dress
Stiff, but with the potential to flow with the breeze
Bright, yet still so dark in countenence
Airy, yet heavy upon my shoulders

And I stood alone.
No suits came to sweep me from my nonexistant feet
No flowers relieved the harsh brightness of me

But through the heavy years I wandered
And the longer I travelled, the more weary I became
Until I had no longer that same, stiff countenence

And wasn't I beautiful - long, flowing
Bending into the wind with all the grace
Of a dove in full flight

But my wings were still clipped
And I couldn't take off
And no matter how beautiful I was
I was still... (me, alone, ugly duckling)
Resilient.

But time changes a thing
And though some of the greatest minds
(Quite before my time, I assumed.)
Could not place me within their causes

(I didn't even understand myself!
How were they to figure out the why
When there was no cause?)
I have no starting point.

And I thought to myself, do I then exist?
I can feel the silken threads binding me
The lace adorning my throat
Smell the decay from years of walking
See the stains of my sins

I can taste the bitter of my
Now well-worn countenence
Hear the rustle of my folds in the breeze

But with no cause, how do I exist?

Through the endless years I wondered
As I wandered through endless plains
Of the nothing within
I dissembled myself

(Trying to find a better fit, I suppose
Fashions do change so quickly nowdays.)

But with each reassembly, I knew
I had left something of myself behind
Some pivitol part of my being
A piece of lace here
A trapping there
Petticoats, bustles, corsets, and reset hems

Such important parts of me
But in small increments, through yet more years

And I stand before you, now
Still flowing
Still bending with the breeze
Still bright enough
To be incongruent with my surroundings
But dark enough
To hide within the shadows' protection

I stand before you, now
In what's left of me
My beautiful starched white dress
Reduced to mere, stained rags.

But what most wouldn't see
Within this form
Is that regardless of my appearance, I STAND!
Unashamed, an unabashedly raw and open wound

Healing too slowly for the human eye to percieve
(But you only take half-hearted glances, anyway.)
But healing.
Finding my "new" place in the world.

And I still have my pieces.
Though dissembled they may be.
But perhaps, in time, I can make a new dress.
When the times surrounding me aren't so harsh.
And maybe then I will be beautiful to your eyes

But until then, I'll have to come to terms
With being beautiful
In my own.