Tell me it’s just a piece of fabric and I’ll tell you it’s just a life.
Every fold, every stitch, every seam, every cut.
Every little act taking part to breathe life into the fabric.
The DNA of the fabric determining its pull, it’s stretch, it’s character.
Tell me it’s all materialistic and I’ll tell you it’s just a lie.
It’s a present under the tree
giving us the gift of being whoever our heart desires.
An outward manifestation of the soul for those whose are too quiet to speak up.
Tell me it’s only about what’s on the inside and I’ll tell you it fuels my insides.
We are canvases to a world in black and white.
We paint ourselves with the fabric
and make a masterpiece out of the world.
Tell me it’s just a store and I’ll tell you it’s a museum.
The clothes racks are the frames
holding up the works of art
which we are ever so lucky to grace our bodies with.
Tell me it’s just fashion and I’ll tell you it’s just my life.