makes me put on “clothes.” I hate them. They are tight and chafe my skin. I take them off, throw them on the floor, and stomp on them. He dresses me again, in rainbow colors that are bright and hurt my eyes. I like black. It is the color of secrets and silence. I like red. It is the color of lust and power. “You wear black and red.” I am angry. “You even wear it on your skin.” I do not know why he gets to make up the rules, and I tell him so.
