I wanted to enter the costume contest for “sexiest”
as a woman who feels good about her body
in tights and long sleeves.
Don’t need Party City to improve my appeal or
a costume to steal men’s eyes.
It’s called confidence, my loves.
There is a special kind of pleasure in being called beautiful
with tits tucked away and ass not hanging out,
especially when the one with kind words hasn’t had six drinks.
But I’m not supposed to say this.
Instead, I should think (I should think?)
that dressing for the beach is cute in forty-nine degrees.
Maybe, I need to throw Betty Friedan aside,
watch more TV and read more People magazines
to see the light that I can’t see with mind switched ON.
Hit OFF. Get the blindfold plug me in
tell me how to be thin
so I can squeeze into that dress
that’s just to die for.