Hands covered in paint.

Wardrobe thoughts.

Last week my dad had to cut me out of a dress.

I hadn't worn it in so long, and there were always issues with the dress- the zipper got terribly caught in the fabric by it that my dad took a pair of scissors to it.

"It's no big deal" I had said when I finally escaped. I guess it really wasn't- it was just my banquet dress.

The dress that I had worn to my last middle school dance and all my closest friends were still with me.

A lot of people complemented me when I wore it. Some said I looked good in red- and even though I had some insecurities about shopping for it, I thought the rose imprints on it looked quite nice.

So when I got out of it I slipped into my second- now only- dress that I had.

It's an elastic type dress. Black and white stripe pattern. Because it stretches out to fit me I have to suck in my stomach and keep my posture straight at times.

Just a day or two ago I went to another high school football game to see me cousin.

That night I wore a blue hoodie because it was cold; but since the team I was for was black and orange- I had flash backs about a boy calling me a bitch.

All because it was homecoming night, and my friend made me a mum of my favorite color- in which it was the opposing teams color.

So for the rest of the game I was worried someone will call me out because I wasn't orange or black.

Today my mom bought two new pairs of sweatpants for my younger sister and asked me to wash them- my first thought was "Why do you buy so much for them but not me".

I passed all of these images my brain had shown me.

Because it was all just wardrobe thoughts.