Help! I'm standing, but I can't get out...
of this dress!
It went on fairly easily
and looked okay in the mirror
although I had hoped for a slimmer image
to impress strangers.
I considered buying it
until I tried to remove it
and it would not let go of me...
No matter how hard I tugged
it wouldn't budge --
one shoulder off,
the other side encased in my waist
alone in the dressing room
no help around.
I'll say 'Yes' to the dress,
if only to be out of it
and the stranglehold it had on me.
For I envision the words written on my tomb:
Death by spandex, gone too soon.
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| Writing Prompt |
Write a poem concerning you, or someone, and a mirror. Make it humerous or serious; make it structured or free verse, but keep it brief. Use the mirror as a metaphor in anyway you desire. |
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