They ridiculed me for what I was wearing
It wasn't my cut-off shorts
It wasn't the thin fabric of my spaghetti straps
It wasn't my summer dress that blows in the wind
It wasn't my crop-top
It wasn't the glimpse of my bra
It was my skin.
YOU ARE READING
Blossoming Words
PoetryPoems that are blooming with love, happiness, abuse, truth, feminism, racism. **TRIGGER WARNING** abuse, sexual assault.
