a fish of explanation for jennsee

more from mysfit's pen:
(this might be a poem or something like one)

over skin that’d be comfortable on me (2005)

so this space, this ten-fingered-toed, bipedal trunk with two arms and a ball perilously perched on thickly wrapped sticks; this must be me.

i don't buy outfits; i slipshod thru fabric nightmares that never perceptually fit a perception of me, my perception of what i'd be comfortable wearing.

i was right you know; you always try to dress me in your free-from-decades fashion, filtering thrift stores thru your taller-than-average frame and everything fits you even if it is ugly.

but i don't mind; i miss your open-closet presentation of repetitious color schemes that all turn black when i put them on and you always gave me red, for some reason.

but these are things that closeness amplifies and distance cannot contain; you ask me about my comfort-level shapes in sleeves of cloth but i cannot answer future fashion tips on the phone; sorry.

i once knew what i'd be the best-dressed feature in my scrap book of what i'd be wearing when i was dead but when i realized i was hiding suicidal closets in my blue room at 272, i got scared.

scared enough to leave clothes to other people and music to musical souls banging drums along the wet streets of new orleans; waiting for the poets to come home.

maybe if you dragged credit thru paris' eiffel-tower-view of ladies in lady-softened gowns, we'd find identity-laden patterns to swathe the mannequin in me.

or maybe not; looking back, i’ve hung heavy-handed hints on hangers in strangers' closets but no one’s come to my rescue yet; perhaps they don’t know where to look.

both our wardrobes betray flagrant disregards for the fashion-conscious minds of other image-conscious people; the only real difference is that you like yours and i have lost a version of me.