First Published on Into Heartbreak and Back on February 15, 2014
Sometimes I wear your clothes. Your socks. Or your hat. I wear your pants or your shirt. Your sweatshirt. And I try to feel close to you. Sometimes I get mad and take whatever I am wearing off. I throw it across the room and I scream and I cry. When I am done I pick it up and put it back on and crawl into bed.
In the beginning you loved my clothes. You complimented me. Then things began to change. My shirt would be too low and you didn’t like it and would let me know. You would question the length of my skirts/dress and decide they were to short even though my garments didn’t show. You would ask me all the time if I were altering my garments so I could wear “revealing” things. One day I got so mad I wore an outfit that covered me from head to toe. You told me you liked it and the next minute you changed your mind. The shirt was “too flesh colored” and you hated it. Once I wore a button-up and tie. And you were mad at me because you like the whole “school girl” thing and I was wearing it. It was my fault. Everything was my fault. I was your “weakness” your “temptation.” That is what you told me. I was your “weakness.”
You were attracted to me. My whole self. And sometimes being around me, looking at me turned you on. You thought about things, things you wanted to do to me, with me. And that was wrong. And so it was my fault. Not yours. I was the one wearing whatever it was I wore that made you think naughty things. It was my fault. I was the one who made you think those things. In the end it didn’t matter what I wore. It was everything about me. Who I was. I was kind. My fault. I was pretty to you. My fault. I was mad. And I am “sexy” and “hot” when I am angry. My fault.
Everything my fault. And I miss you so I wear your clothes. I want to be close to you.
I am freaking crazy.