Walked into the dressing room
Questioned the fit
With all the lights angled
To illuminate the best places
While inside, the struggle
holding all together just to feel fit, the lift and separate.

It is a wonder how all this frilly lace, thread,  and beading
could make a girl, become woman, turned bride.
its a disposable ideal, one chuckled about since the beginning of time.
Seemingly picture perfect, now the faux retouch
a process where reality turns fake
The day a mere memory

Now about the questions
as we look at the reflection
striving for perfection, but yet it feels incomplete,
next, Watch, strap in, repeat.

there are no yes moments, just...
yes things
the feeling of suffocation
of a day, where this will only be in the closet,
when everyone wants you to dress up
You to play along
you to conform.

(The emotional build up
the pain ensues)
all for a day no longer is about you and the other half
but filled with moments of regret
where simply just having a judge make it happen
would have been better
then seeing family come together

a final step down, back from the fantasy
or nightmare, with increased humility...

it is all clear, the item is beautiful,
but for some, this is a tortured fun.
no single person can imagine
the stress of just trying to celebrate two people forming a marriage,
that this one day can make, break, or dissolve a feeling
with the dawn breaking,
thoughts are revealing.

the last step down off of the stage,
lights, reflection, multiple direction mirror,
makes it much clearer.

can you breathe?
can you walk? Can you talk?
can you sit down and enjoy it?
But if a single no appears, alterations can ****
so save the moment, take picture.
get real.

only in a dressing room
can one reveal the truth, nature, and absurdity
of cloth, lace, beads, and thread.
question the fit.
and live without the regret...
of buying the disposable wedding dress.