you don't care about her clothes
you care to look
the way she does
when she's wearing them.

sure,
you think her jeans are cute,
but it's not really the jeans
you want.
you want the body
that's wearing them

society knew exactly where to press
soft spots shaped by comparison,
twisting our hunger for confidence
into craving perfection.

they dressed up the lie:
paper-thin models, bronzed skin,
limbs like marble
features sculpted by lighting
and a team of stylists.

they told us,
buy the dress
and you'll become her.

so we learned
to place our faces
on bodies that aren't ours
legs for days,
poreless skin,
cheekbones that never belonged
to girls like us.

and when the package arrives,
we run upstairs,
heart beating,
ready to meet the new version
of ourselves,
only to find
the same body,
the same softness
gripping the straps
of a size zero dress
you've might've fit into
last year.

and in that mirror,
it becomes clear:
the 20-inch waist,
the thigh gap,
they don't come with the dress.

and maybe,
just maybe,
life would be easier
if we stopped asking fabric
to fix what shame
never should've touched.

no dress,
no pair of jeans,
is going to make you
love yourself
the way you long to.