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Rape victims attempting to get justice are sometimes asked what they were wearing, as a defense for the rapist. This poem attempts to answer this question.

Submitted:Jul 4, 2014    Reads: 20    Comments: 1    Likes: 2   

What was I wearing, your honor?

You mean at the start, or by the end?

At the beginning, I wore my clothing.

I wore my head held high.

I wore happiness like a blanket through the night.

And then they attacked me.

And they beat me.

And they stripped me down.

Down, past the clothing they ripped from my body.

Down, past the flesh they carved with daggers

Down into the core of my being.

And they took it all,

Away, with them, into the night

The head I held so high

The happiness I tended so carefully.

And the clothing that covered it all.

Away with them, into the night.

Then, your honor,

I wore nothing.

And when they were gone,

And I lay bleeding on the street,

I put something much different.

I put on a face streaked with tears

And dirt

And blood

And hiding in the shame from their stares.

I put on fear.

A fear that wraps tight around me,

That stops my heart at every sound.

A fear that I can never, ever take off.

And I put on no clothing.

Because all that I had worn

Lay in bloody strips on the ground.

And dressed in this I stumbled home.

And in that outfit, your honor,

I made it home safe,

For who could ever mistake a naked woman for a whore?

What was I wearing your honor?

Oh, nothing special.

But all the same, something I will miss very much.


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