They say a stain rests upon our clothes,
A dirt runs from our hair down to our toes,
They call us soiled for what we wear,
Before we take off our clothes no one seems to care,
After we indulge we are vile, disregarded,
Though until we do so we are bombarded,
It makes us question who are
Are we soiled after we get out of the back seats of cars?
Are we vile for prancing around in bars?
We just do what you are doing
So what points do you believe you're proving?
Shunning us for adapting to your rules,
Calling us innocent until we are used,
Are you teaching us that we aren't okay?
Are you telling us that we are stained?
YOU ARE READING
"In my Memories" Poetry for (#WATTY'S 2019)
PoetryMy Poetry I'm submitting for the poetry award in the 2019 Watty awards. This is all deeply personal to me, and I'm taking a step out of my comfort zone to share this with you. I hope you can connect to it, Come read my memories.
