Beige Panties

I was in my rocker chair.

In beige underwear.

I told my husband I was feeling frisky, great.

He did not repudiate.

So cold-hearted and mean.

I just wanted to be seen.

Bewilderment

Changed to discontentment

Beige is like biscuits, oatmeal, sand,

creamed coffee, not bland.

It is safe, not dull, run-of-the-mill.

It is reliable, conservative, and flexible.

Calm and relaxing.

Often considered boring and dull.

This will mean null.

Because beige is the color of my skin.

That is what I am most comfortable in.

I also do not want to stand out

I want comfort, conformity.

I am not artificial, I am me.

It means more time for intellectual abilities.

More time for wisdom, ideas, and knowledge, you see.

And also, trustworthy.

Safety.

Discoverability.

Energy and strength.

It enables me to channel my energy into productivity.

Yes, by ME wearing beige panties.

Somewhere along the line

I lost my greatness. That is fine.

I asked why.

He said because the color of my panties is beige.

So, I sat there in disbelief.

For he was now a thief.

Eighteen years is a long time to waste.

On someone who doesn't appreciate.

Beige panties, mom jeans, and soon-to-be slacks, he said.

They are like fisherman’s hip waiters, he said.

Being a mom of five is hard.

Beige was all I knew.

No wonder I shut down.

And had a frown.

I was exhausted.

C-PTSD, numbing out.

Disconnected, unsafe.

Functional freeze.

Meanwhile, he was chasing strippers.

Because I wear beige panties.

I lost myself through criticism.

Belittment.

Ridicule.

Married to a fool.

I am waiting for a settlement.

To all women who wear beige panties,

You rock. Don’t change the color of your panties for anyone.

Be you.

You really know your husband is a narcissist when he leaves you for a stripper because you wear beige panties.

Narcissists tell you exactly how they feel.

Because their jokes are real.

That’s how they get away with it, though.

They constantly meddle and mess things up and then go.

You are left to blame.

And things are no longer the same.

After eighteen years of reactive abuse,

My body had enough, and I got a clue.

Two years later,

and no hip waiters.

Just rocking my beige underwear.

I lost twenty-five pounds and I have never felt better.

I am also not bored anymore.

Comedy is hidden drama, trauma, and chaos.

It’s true.

It’s not the color of the panties, it is what’s in them.

Beige is the color of my skin,

And that is what is in them.

Me.

Free.

The great escape and

Empowerment.

Beige.