Sometimes I want to feel pretty.
To have frothy fabric slide over my hips,
To feel the catch in my breath
As lace and silk hold my waist tightly.
To walk, no...to glide along with grace.
To have the breeze tickle my bare thighs
And kiss the tops of my *******.

And for a moment I am.
Pretty, I mean.
The confidence makes me giddy
My smile is bright as I look ahead.
I do not shy away from the world's eyes,
Instead I lean into its gaze.

But sometimes I don't want to be pretty.
Sometimes when I walk down the street
I fight the urge to rip my ******* from me,
And throw them at the starving pack of wolves
That whistle as I walk by.

Sometimes I want to cloak my form.
To hide in shadow and fabric.
To keep my eyes on the ground
As fear, not lace, steals my ability to breathe.

Sometimes ugly is a shield that I wear,
That keeps me safe, not from harm
But from blame.
Ugly means it wasn't my fault,
Ugly means I didn't ask for it,
Ugly means they might not pick me to...

And even then, despite the risk
Sometimes, I want to feel pretty.
Maybe not be pretty.
But feel pretty.