[Edited to clarify: Apparently, Halsey released a poem three weeks ago about a past sexual assault. HOPEFULLY needless to say, I had NO IDEA about that when I conceived of and wrote this post, and this format in NO way was attempting to mock what she said, how she said it, or ANYTHING other than just how bad the bodysuit is. I literally just saw the photo, and while I pondered it, my eyes drifted to a copy of the Seuss book that was poking out of a bookshelf nearby. Thanks to the Fug National who alerted us to Halsey’s poem’s existence. I sincerely hadn’t heard a word about it, and don’t quite know how I missed it.]
From Woe, The Places It’ll Go, the lost Dr. Seuss book:
Today is your day
When your Private Spaces
Get roughly filleted.
You have boobs on your chest
That might want some support.
You could steer yourself into
An underwire fort.
But they’re on their own.
And you know what? Fine.
The realest concerns are below your chest line.
You have pants riding low; you’ve a shirt cut so high.
Is that doubt that I see in your kohl smoky eyes?
You know what I’m seeing. This is no surprise.
You’re hiding a brutal crotch wedgie, I surmise.
Look down at your groin. Look it over with care.
Surely you don’t want your bodysuit to Go There.
With those pants riding low and your shirt cut that high,
You had to know you’d kiss comfort goodbye.
It will burrow where it shouldn’t.
It will nestle like a flea.
And soon you’ll have wounds
Where your erogenous zones should be.
It may not get better.
It may chafe and chap.
In that case, of course,
Please rip open the snaps.
And if it’s a one-piece
You can’t quickly snip
Just seek sweet release
And HULK OUT with a rip.
So when things start to happen,
Here’s the solution you have:
Just TEAR THAT THING OFF
And bill Tom for the salve.
THE PLACES IT’LL GO!
Yeah, she heard me.