Every morning I roll my weary bones out
And I groan
I don't drink coffee
I'm never alone.
My children are waiting to state their needs
And I must choose to get dressed
Clothing ~ it was not supposed to be
This array of color, texture, and pressure
It was just supposed to be us
Our hair, our skin, no flaws coverings, no distractions
And as my painful skin is haltered up or in
As I face a new day
The tree just outside my window
With its' fresh dress of leaves (It is Spring)
And the Tulip in its bright vestments
Remind me of my eyes
My hair
What is actually mine
And I get dressed
And I think how funny that I think about these things
That it matters to me
And I wonder
Anybody else?
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