poetry

You’re A Whore

Shes never had sex.

She hasn’t given consent.

This was her choice.

Yet, her breasts have been 

squeezed and ass has been 

smacked red. 

She’s a slut,

because she’s not dating

anyone.

She’s a tramp,

because they touch her

and yell “complements”

as she walks her dog.

Ugh, she’s the definition of vulgar!

She’s terrified of the 

consequences of telling them 

to screw off.

She rests there for her bus.

He turns the corner and

yells, “Nice rack!”

Wow, what a whore.

She is a national treasure.

Born with sculpted curves,

skin painted with the best 

paint Van Gogh could buy.

She goes to the Chicago art 

Museum and she is the 

masterpiece.

People are degrading.

They can see that they have 

ruined themselves.

No longer worth her time,

but they failed to see

the beauty left in themselves.

So they ruin her.

They tarnish her purity.

They take away the truth 

of who she is so she suffocates.

They make her something 

only to get pleasure from.

Instead of someone who 

should be hidden, cherished,

by people who will see who 

she is and will become.

We all believe the lie.

We know the truth,

But we are silent 

we join in.

Our minds are bought and 

sold so easily.

And she’s the whore…

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