Anonymous
That necklace with those lustrous, luminous pearls, was kept uniform through a thin chain and tight clasp, through the drilled-in eyes of the ocean. That dress with the enticing, elegant fit, suffocated the rise and fall, push and pull of the blossoming ocean. That makeup with the brightening, clean finish of that glistening, shimmering blush concealing my cold anaesthetised complexion. I felt the ocean slip through my fingers, the minute my feet touched the pavement, the minute I intoxicated the fresh air, the minute I became someone else’s perception. Did those things make me a girl? Those distinct, delicate elements? Am I only a girl if people see me as one? Is it not enough to feel like one? What does it mean to be feminine? I don’t know. Do you know the expression “to let your hair down”? It means to be free. So I hope to finally be free.
