Dear me,
Don't wear too much makeup.
I know you think it makes you look strong.
Like armour.
It doesn't.
It just makes you harder to reach.
You don't need it.
You never did.
Just a base.
Enough to blur the nights.
Not erase them.
Blush.
Like you stayed outside longer than planned.
Mascara.
Only so your eyes don't disappear.
Your lips already know what to do.
Nude liner.
That shy pink gloss you pretend is accidental.
Let your hair down.
Yes, I know.
It's heavy.
It annoys you.
It sticks.
Let it fall anyway.
There's something dark in it.
Not dirty.
Wild.Like woods you don't enter
if you're not ready to play.
A place that doesn't explain itself.
A place that doesn't soften.
—
Dear me,
Wear black.
Black isn't a choice for you.
It's a default.
Wear wide-leg trousers.
You know how much you hate your legs.
The volume fixes that.
Fabric that moves before you do.
That hides.
Hints.
Stops.
Your waist appears quietly.
Your body becomes a suggestion.
Your presence doesn't ask.
Wear the black top.
The turtleneck.
The one that shows just enough skin to feel intentional.
Your tattoos don't translate.
Good.
They're footnotes to a book nobody else has read.
They don't explain.
They stay.
Black flows on you.Not because of your brown eyes.
Because of how you look at people when you're not trying.
You pin them like that.
They feel it.
And they don't know why.
That's yours to keep.
—
Dear me,
Have a drink.
You're not fat.
Stop pretending you don't know that.
Balance it.
But don't negotiate pleasure.
Don't smoke too much.
Don't swear.
Be a lady —
—
No.
Forget the lady.
Be real.
Be uneven.
Be loud, then quiet.
Laugh too hard.
Sing wrong.
Say the word wrong.
Keep going.
Walk confident.Even when it's fake.
Especially then.
—
Dear me,
Don't wear the black heels today.
Not the polite ones.
Wear the ones that sing on the ground.
Wild songs.
Old songs.
For women not wanting to be found.
Not needing to be saved.
Not daring to be forgotten.
Because every second you try to be smaller, softer, quieter —
you betray the only thing you actually owe this life.
Your presence.
—
So this is me.
Maybe I like her more than I admit.
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