I.
Satin robes, stacked together,
still on velvet hangers.

I do not dare open
the protective sleeve
they live in.

II.
A whore’s wardrobe.

Brilliant florals, Pisces fish,
one held dragons at the hem.

Carefully curated
to suit my needs.
Quick to undress for him.
Nothing tangled in the way.

My desire for connection
wore me.

III.
Now, I carefully roll them
for someone else to adorn in.

My body needs differently.

Connection with myself
costs their surrender,
only a piece
of who I had been.

I am different now,
and I like it.

My smile is a whore’s still.

I have all the wardrobe I need
in this skin.