The week comes to an end,
I put on my Sunday best.
I shimmy a skirt up my hips
Then tug it down to where it rests
Just above my knees,
A futile attempt to avoid
The judging eyes of the sisters.
Hiding the curves of my body
Never shielded me from their whispers.
I take a blouse from my closet,
A blouse from Nordstrom.
Just loose enough not to look whorish
But tight enough to look refined.
A balance so grueling to achieve
A trade certification should be awarded
To all Christian ladies.
I check and double-check my reflection
making sure I'm the epitome of
a Christian young woman.
Mary looks down at me with disapproval
You've forgotten the most important thing,
My Dear.
She's right, I have.
A simple mistake.
I look at myself and smile.
A smile crafted from years of Sunday service.
My teeth are laced with the
sweet poison of southern etiquette.
Lips curled, ready to utter my lines to churchgoers:
Yes, I'm doing well, thank you.
How are you this fine Sunday?
They never look close enough
to check if it reaches the corners of my eyes.
But they never will.
Their eyes too lack the sparkle of a real smile.
A congregation full of Church smiles.
I walk out of the house with my church smile,
My church clothes,
And leave myself behind.
YOU ARE READING
Escapism
PoetryThis is a collection of poems I've written throughout my life showing my journey of mental health struggles, unhealthy relationships, my struggle with Christianity, and eventually finding some peace and happiness in my life. Before reading, please n...
