It was too cold for her that January day
but I wore her all the same,
a last-ditch attempt to elicit soft words
by a girl starved of compliments and kindness,
knowing in my bones it would not work,
the battle had been lost weeks ago
before I’d even taken to the field,
and yet I readied myself to fight,
donning a suit of armour in the form of a red tartan dress,
I chose her knowing that something
would fail me before the day was out,
but it would not be her,
she would remain loyal, steadfast,
continue to suit me long after he stopped,
flatter me as he hadn’t for months,
becoming the emblem of my liberation.
