There’s you.
And then—there are the dresses you wear:
The way you talk,
The pace of your walk.
Every belief you hold—
From the holiness of your God
To the smirking ruin of your devil,
And everything in between.
The way you glance.
The spill of your thoughts,
What you show,
And what you hide.
Every posture,
Every pause,
Every little flex of pride or fear.
If I tried to name them all,
I’d run out of hangers.
So if you’re wondering—
“Who am I beneath all this?”
Then observe.
A little self-indulgence
can’t be worse than blind survival.
Can it?
Welcome to the club.
And one last thing—
Wear clothes that fit.
Experiment. Explore.
Do it for the world.
But mostly,
So you don't choke on the fabric.
Don’t stay stuck.
I collect dresses like knives—
each one sharpened
to fit exactly
where I need to cut.
—Parth B.