Un- Woman
What is woman to you?
A womb with legs to bare your children?
Perhaps, a second mother to nurture you?
Sick, vile man.
You have corrupted me so much.
I wish to be free of anything womanly to you.
I shall remove the breasts which tender to child
And remove the greatest sin to exist: my womanhood.
I shall tear from me, my womb which makes me mother.
For I have no intent on giving myself to you.
I shall burn my face with acid and gouge out the eyes you call pretty.
What else remains, but the deformed remains of woman?
What else must I remove to stop being woman?
These smooth locks of hair, sit too idly on my head,
Perhaps removing them will make me un-woman.
Ill remove all curves and bumps known to make me female.
For I don’t wish to be touched by you.
I don’t wish to be complimented under the pretense of lust.
I would rather burn in the pits of hell, for you disgust me more.
Even Satan’s vile tongue seems sweeter,
And god’s love seems gone.
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