That dress is as a berry, extra plump:
Creates a physique much like lard and fat.
This curtain of violet makes many a bump.
Perhaps, it only needs some feathers and a hat.
My pigment clashes with such vibrant color.
Its absence of shape steals bosom security.
Despite our differences, I cannot wear another;
For it shapes to my mold. This violet authority.
If a storm blew, this covenant would not.
Some marvel its existence, some look on
To find fault. But they do not cast my lot.
For they know not my berry; nor its bulky brawn.
Yet, how frayed my soul would be,
If fate ever stole this mauve marvel from me.