Dressed In My Own World

By T

the world is black and white,

but i wear colour like a rebellion.

like a reminder that i exist beyond the

grey

that softness and strength can live in the

same skin.

when i dress up,

i’m not dressing for the world to see me.

i’m dressing to see myself.

to find my reflection

in fabric that hugs, flows, drapes,

shields;

to be wrapped in something that feels

like me,

not what they expect me to be.

this is my armour.

not metal or masks,

but linen and leather, silk and denim.

a second skin that says: i am safe here.

when i wear what i love,

i step into a bubble no one can puncture.

no voice is loud enough

to reach me when i feel like myself.

because when i feel good in what i wear,

i’m untouchable.

the world keeps spinning

but i’m grounded,

stitched into my own rhythm.

these clothes have held me

when people couldn’t.

they’ve carried me through

mornings i couldn’t carry myself.

every colour i choose,

every sleeve i roll up,

every necklace i clasp behind my neck

is a whisper of who i am that day

and who i’ve survived to become.

my closet is not made of trends.

it’s made of stories.

of days i wanted to disappear,

and chose instead to be seen.

home, to me,

has never been a place.

it’s been the way a jacket makes me

feel brave.

the way black makes me feel

powerful,

the way yellow reminds me i’m

alive.

home is a feeling

and fashion is how i come home to

myself.

so when the world turns cold,

i reach for something that feels

warm,

something that reminds me

i’ve built a shelter out of style.

and in it,

i am safe.

i am whole.

i am home.

By T