My Suppressor.

It clings to me.

Damp.

Loose.

But it still finds a way to grip to my skin.

My hair starts to curl; the edges kinking upwards.

The humidity trapped inside this barrier hits my skin.

Trying to find a way out.

Suffocating.

The musty smell crawls away from the material against my body to my nostrils.

Am I the only one who can smell this?

Nauseating.

I try to cover it up, to merely mask the smell that unpleasantly intoxicates me.

People stare at me.

They marvel at the sight.

But, do they know?

A girl too placid to seem to care.

It’s surreal.

But on the inside, I’m screaming out.

The discomfort is far too much to bear.

Someone save me.

Save me from what hides what’s underneath.

My suppression.

My damp cardigan.