it's still you underneath it all
naked and exposed
raw
you dress it up pretty with the flowers and the lace
too bad the dress doesn't cover your face
for therein lie your eyes
the windows to your soul
and what lies beneath the surface of dyes and cottons and linens
making it fashionable doesn't make it forgiven
or forgotten or painless
you've prettied up the ugly truth
and even if the world doesn't notice
you do
and at sunset you're afraid to take it off
afraid you'll see the shame in the mirror
at morning and night you dress in the dark; curtains drawn
afraid to be seen by even the stars
your favorite dress hides nothing that a t-shirt and jeans won't cover
but they're not the same
they don't make you feel lovely despite the ache
the loneliness; the brokenness
but your favorite dress won't fix this mess
underneath still lies the naked, broken flesh
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