different,
are you...really?
how about
all others
are too busy
being a duplicate
of another—
making each
one of them
the same
almost identical
while there you are
at the farthest
area of the room,
exerting no effort
at being yourself.

stained
by the passing season
it fell down helplessly,
the branches
it once hold onto
denied it
without remorse—
as if the months
they've been together
didn't matter
didn't happen.

wind gushed
as it reached
the end of line
whispering
'your time is up'
'you should rest now',
and as the new
born leaves
began to sprout
and grow,
it lies on the ground—
stepped on,
forgotten.

don't tell her
how to dress,
she has her own
mind and will,
it could be a shorts,
pants or plain shirt,
her choice if she wants
it sleeveless or
with sleeves
covered or not
with lace or ribbons.

don't tell her
how to dress,
it's not her fault
if there are *******
out there
wanting to
devour women
against their will,
it's not her fault
if her dress is too short
she didn't wear it
to be the object
of attention
nor to be touched
without consent,
she dresses to express
her own identity
so don't ever tell her
how to dress.