I am plain, and I have to say it plain,
Because it would be a lie to admit to anything else.
When I dress up in costume like the other half,
I look at myself in the mirror,
And laugh. It’s really funny!
How can I play someone I can never fully be?
It’s like being a clown suffering from depression.
Half of my closet is filled
With useless junk I’ll never wear but once
To play some role
In fiction, never in truth.
Those girls of the fashonista persuasion
Alternate between making me roll my eyes
And driving me to buy
Those damn clothes in my closet
I’ll never wear but once.
They talk about elite labels that boggle my mind.
Most of my clothes have no distinct labels
‘Cause dammit I’m broke–and that’s the truth.
I cannot afford their things
On account of my money and my mind.
I’ve got enough to worry about
Without vanity running around in my head.
When I am alone, I am forced to ask myself
Why I have not thrown out my costumes.
Showing up displaying trendiness makes me uncomfortable,
Tugging at a shirt that never seems the right length,
Pulling up pants that don’t seem to fit right.
It is love, I realized, that drives me to this temporary insanity.
That dangerous, misleading, wonderful beast
It’s my opinion that Cupid is a fashion designer
And we’ve all been tricked to believe that love
Exists without eyes, judgment, or access to the Old Navy web site.
Standing beside you
Is like being with someone from another world.
You, with your humble attitude and designer labels,
And I, with my no-name clothes and disobedient hair,
Make a strange combination of glamorous and ordinary.
You’re a chameleon because you can be both
But I have accepted the latter role
Because it suits me best.
The other role is by convenience, to slide on like a second skin
When I need it, and to slide off
When it becomes unnecessary.
Please don’t hate me because I ain’t beautiful.
I don’t want to rise to the notoriety
Of empty-headed girls who smile
And skip their one o’clock English class
To go to the mall for an outfit for the club tonight.
Nor to I want to dress like the person I can’t be.
It would be like telling a lie without even speaking.
There are girls out there who can be both,
But I cannot join that club.
Looking good makes me profoundly itchy.