My skin often feels like An ill fitting suit. Too big in spots Too tight in others With seams showing and scratchy fabric. My life often feels that way- Something I tug at that settles for a moment And then shifts back into discomfort when I take a breath. Sometimes its worn spots let in the cold wind, Vicious. Sometimes it sticks to me and refuses to peel away, suffocating. I feel like a child in church In her Sunday best Who knows she must sit still and quiet Even as the shoes pinch And the stiff collar closes round her neck. I sneak glances around me Trying to discern if anybody else feels This way. They all seem content. Comfortable. Still. Perhaps if I just breathe shallowly And don't move a muscle I will learn what they know And settle into my shrink-wrapped existence. "Tiny people with tiny lives-" Is it the truth? Or do they just look small Because they've learned to squeeze into the space they've been given? Does the woman ordering coffee in her business suit and heels Sit up nights, unable to sleep for a longing she can't name? Does the man mopping the floors Dream of a woman he will never touch Again? I wish I could find those parts of people. The parts they hide. Because mine won't stay hidden. There is something too thin between me And the world And it is poorly fashioned And it is tattered. And sometimes people look at me with disdain As if I've walked out of my house naked Unable to properly clothe myself And I wonder If they aren't Right.