Zipper caught at the nape

The zipper snarls at the edge of skin—

a stray hair caught, pulling tight.

I tug, the metal bites, hesitates,

like a secret held too long beneath fabric.

This dress, a second skin sewn tight,

holds me hostage in its silent grip.

I trade comfort for the shape they expect,

wrapping myself in their thin demands.

Each stitch whispers what I’ve lost:

a breath, a step, a space to breathe,

the weight of wearing—

more than cotton or thread,

a cage made soft.