Hidden

I pull the blankets back, exposing a very naked me each day.
A naked me with the same lines and curves
that have identified this body as my own for my own short eternity.

I cover my nakedness in different costumes,
Every day choosing a new identity.
Indiscriminate pieces of fabric
That by themselves cause no real reaction,
But when snapped or buckled to my bare body
Let you decide how to react to me.
A button-down blouse and starch-stiff suit.
Cut-offs and a stained tee-shirt.
Black leather vest with black leather skirt with black leather boots.
Yoga pants and a fitness sports bra.
Lace and satin corset and a token thong.
Broomstick skirts and pretty shirt.

Why can’t anyone understand that multiplicity?
I am desperate to become someone,
If no one in particular, than anyone.
If the time isn’t dedicated to becoming, at the very least,
It is spent trying to solidify.

I can't meet you,
The world at large
Naked.
I am afraid to be seen
Without those conflicting images,
Because even I am not sure
Who am I really
When the clothes come off.

Day to day, am I so different
Covered by leather, lace, silk, denim?
How brave would I be to be
Seen for who I am?
Could I dare to be nothing more than
Myself.