Siouxsie's Space











{January 22, 2015}   My Life in Chains (and Lace)

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I – Prelude

When I was small
My fashion choices both
Horrified and delighted
My mother. I had my own sense of
What was right.
For ME.

Short skirts with dozens of petticoats?
YES! With boots.
And my dads military uniform
Shirt tucked neatly in, his hat
Atop my head. (this, at five years old)

As I got older–we began to argue.
“You are NOT leaving my house
dressed like that!”
It became an eternal sit-in.

I think she just got sick of
looking at me.

Then it was, “You are not going
anywhere with ME dressed like that!”
As if anyone wanted to.
(Teenagers, right?)
I considered it a win. Except for church,
where I was FORCED to go.
So I chose the next extreme.

Hat, veil, gloves, silk blend
dresses (I had two, it was enough),
pantyhose with seams up the back and
polka dots to match my veil and dress.
It was over the top, and louder than the
first choice, but she had no real
complaint.
I thought I won.

The dresses were pretty.

II – Clothes life after mom

When I was free to dress for
myself, my fashion choices didn’t
become more complacent. I
Got a job (more than one) and found
out that your boss doesn’t give a
Fuck about your band or your individuality.
Change or go home.

I went home a lot.

I got a job at a temp agency.
I learned to control my temper
and my “special” self at work.

My mom hired me.
Look who you can rely on –
as it turns out, I can’t work for my mom.
I mean, I DID … But I shouldn’t.
Poor mom. (Poor me?)

I smudged on enough black eyeliner to make people
think I had been sucker punched.
I wore black ball gowns to football games
because it had the word “ball” in the title.
I wore a white lace prom dress –
to the Rocky Horror Picture Show.
I yelled at people for noticing.

In short,
I was unbearable.

Well turned out, well made up,
But irritating beyond belief.
I wrote poetry on paper from dumpsters.
I groomed everyone who would let me.
The world was my Barbie Doll
in black chiffon and old English lace.

I loved anything classic and beautiful.
And since I couldn’t afford it –
Went for the opposite!
Cover me in chains!
The more, the better.
“I am
An impenetrable fortress.
A scary, unapproachable bitch.
Stay away!”

III – now

I am what I am.
I wear ball gowns to balls,
(or in my house.)
Torn jeans to PTA meetings, chains to
the grocery store.
But I am exactly who I seem to be.
And if you don’t like it –

Don’t look.

Sll – 12/25/2011

Edited 1/22/2015

For my mom – who put up with a lot of shit.
Including this. 🙂

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