My Fault

Is it my fault you looked?
that I "gave you reason to",
from what I see,
the only blame,
Shifts from me to you.

it's uncomfortable to think,
that one could say so easily,
that I was wrong,
that you were right,
And justify the "sleazy".

I should be able to breathe,
think and bend and move,
comforitably,
uncorruptedly,
Without the thought of you.

For when you say "I asked for it",
did you even think?
i don't want it,
never did,
without a single blink.

but no because I wore a shirt,
That fits my body well,
it wasn't baggy or promiscuous,
but in your mind for ME to tell.

Maybe it's my genetic composition,
My nature-given curves,
that make you so uncomfortable,
and get under your nerves.

So im sorry im not prude ennough,
im sorry im not a nun,
Im sorry I don't feel the need,
to wear a shaggy bun,
im sorry it's my fault I guess?
but listen here for this,
what if it was not my fault at all?
and you were just a pervy prick.