CAPITAL LETTERS & short dresses

I'm wearing shorts with a top-close from neck to waist and open from waist to ankles. I am with dad to an office to collect my documents. Everyone is staring as my legs show when I take a step- a look on my legs followed by a look on my face. Dad is complaining why am I wearing this dress. My tongue says nothing. My brain is exploding at the same time- stares, legs, gazes, skin, words- I'll choke.

But I don't. I don't choke. I walk with my head high, eyes straight. I'm not apologetic for what you are doing. I'm not sorry of wearing this piece of my wardrobe today. 'Oh, you haven't seen a piece of skin before? Are you even human?'. But I keep quiet. What is to be gained by talking to people who don't listen? Look at me in the eye, tell me I'm wrong for wearing this and you are right to have a demon of lust and I'll stop wearing it. And guess what, you can't say it. Because even you know you are wrong; wrong for justifying for your behaviour, wrong for asking me to be sorry for the wrong you did.

I look them in the eye and they look away. And you ask me to be sorry. Think again people, think again.