Our Layers

Is the world so cold that we wear all these layers?

Is the world so cold because we wear all these layers?

We first drearily rise and put our tightly-fitted undergarments on, masking ourselves in nationality and false identities,

We then conceal ourselves further with suffocating sweaters and bristly woolen turtlenecks,

Here is my Religion, Here is my Doctrine, Here is my Deity.

We then slowly drape our long, black coats on,

It’s heaviness forcing our shoulders to slump ever so slightly,

It’s fabric woven with our past experiences, our jadedness, our trauma, our childhood.

Finally we carefully pick out our jewellry in front of the mirror,

Accessorising ourselves with pieces we have stolen from friends, strangers, the television, historical figueres, fictional characters,

Only then do we step outside into the world,

Hiding our smug smile,

Relishing in the comforting reality that no one can see through our layers.