HURT Poem: White Dress, by Elizabeth Mazza

Mommy and Daddy dressed me up in a white dress.
They’re holding me in front of all of their church friends.
They hand me to the pastor.
He puts something on my forehead and says what I know is a prayer.
A promise to be brought up under the Lord with all his protection.
People cheer.
I smile brightly.
My white dress catching the glimmering stained glass of the church.

I have picked out a white dress to wear today.
Mom and Dad wanted to talk to me.
They sit me down at the table.
Dad hands me a tiny pink box.
There’s a pretty ring inside.
He tells me it’s a promise to God.
To wait.
That there’s a piece of myself that I should only give to my husband.
I put it on my finger, it matches my white dress so beautifully.

I wore a white dress to church today.
I sit in the service, holding a boy’s hand.
He’s replaced the ring I had, with one of his own.
I know what will happen after church.
We’ll go get ice cream as we so often did.
I hold his hand in the car.
But this isn’t the ice cream shop.
This is an apartment.
Not his.

Someone else’s.
He brings me into a room.
He pushes me down to the floor.
I don’t want to do this.
I made a promise to God.
I want to keep it.
But I’m not strong enough.
I kneel there, fighting as much as I can, but it’s no use.
He finally finishes.
I go to the bathroom.
Suddenly my white dress isn’t so white.

I haven’t looked at that dress in years.
That damn white dress.
I hid it, stuffed it away in an old box.
I refuse to look at it.
Refuse to remind myself of the choice that was stolen from me.
That dress was supposed to mean something.
I even tried to wear it again after the incidents.

Only once.
I got looks from men.
Told I was “so beautiful.”
Until it was clear that they didn’t really care about the dress.
Only about how good it would feel to take it off of me.
I despise that damn dress.

Mom is zipping me into a white dress.
One I don’t deserve to wear.
It’s the nicest dress I’ll ever own.
“A one of a kind” they said at the store we got it from.
The man this dress is for, he gave it to me.
My old one was stained.
Tarnished by another man’s decisions.
But he gave me a new one.
He gave me a new life, a safe life.
I take one last look at myself.
And show the man I love, the dress he made.

I’m standing in a store, holding a tiny white dress.
A dress that my baby girl will soon wear.
I will hold her in front of the church, and pray for God’s protection over her.
Protection from men like the one I knew.
The one her father healed me from.
She will never know what it is to feel unwelcome in your own skin.
She will never try to hide her life away.
And I will make sure.
That no man ever tarnishes her pure, white, dress.