How I forget

I forgot how prodigious some minds worked, and how I forget prodigious isn’t always a good thing.
I forgot that if I wear my skirt too short it will forge an invitation to the men lurking outside, who demand to be let in , with the envelope scrunched in his blistered hand proving he has my consent. But I … I don’t remember giving it to him. I forgot that whatever clothes I put on and change about my body, I will still never be able to call my body, MY body. Because how can you claim something he demanded he claimed first? But I … don’t remember fighting for the ownership, maybe I didn’t.

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