What were you wearing is a dead question. It leads to no solution.
should I tell you my frumpy pants hanging on my frame were illicit? That
a shirt she bought a Mormon girl was too revealing, her body too explicit?
Would you advise a mother to disrobe her child from diaper in fear of the boy who lives in her other daughter's class will pay for a night?
what were you wearing, dear brother? I asked, to see if any fruit could come from the dead, bereaved.
military fatigues, dear sister. Please leave the light on when you leave.
what were you wearing, dear aunt?
my darling, I wore my wedding gown, as was expected. But he was drunk. So it was no shame to him
to tear my youth and my delicacy down.
what were you wearing, dear writer?
my sweet, I was wearing a too long shirt with too long sleeves. I was wearing manure stained denim, with little embroidered leaves.
I wore my makeup to hide my acne and my braces to hide my teeth. I wore bandaids on my legs from a burn for a week.
I wore my hair in a long braid down, with sticks and dust and hag sticking all around.
I wore a smile from cheek to cheek, and that was the last think she took off. It was the one thing I never got back.
I laid awake at night, wondering what I would tell my middle school teacher. Should I? Would he even believe me?
I laid awake wondering who would take care of my Nintendogs if they sent me to jail for commuting a sin so heinous.
scripture saw me a seductress, the law a victim, my parents, a failure in their protection.
Dearest, deepest friend, whose house was within a mile, what did you wear when you hurt me?
I laughed at you, and clawed you face, and plastered on your smile.