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Poem

This foreign fabric rubs my spirit raw 
and childish gossip whispers from the folds 
of matching wardrobes picking threadwork flaws
to make them all more splendid to behold.

I've learned the dance but I can't follow it 
with those dramatic twists and pompous moves.
Assuming colors cannot make me fit 
into the scheme of babes with much to prove! 

Although I'm tucked into a uniform 
beneath there's more than what I'll ever share, 
an armor woven while I danced life's storms 
in only metaphoric underwear.

I hope that each define themselves by more 
than all the uniforms they may have worn.

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