Chic

Kill her,

Hang her by her pearls of dissatisfaction,

Make her chew the bloody sinew

Of her own remains

She doesn’t call to happiness

To destiny or positivity

She swims in pools of guilt

Drowning herself in a search for something

Beyond the mundane.

She wrings her wrists in frustration

Not outside enough to slice deep

Into her blue circuits

But instead dampening them with bruises

No one will question.

She enjoys the drama

Menstruation the answer to her ill

Fitted smile

The white male a stereotype she fits

With her own mystic gaze

Championing her bloody stained panties

Ripping her bra to pieces with her own

Carnivorous greed

A fuck yah to the feminists

Of fashionable morals.

Knowledge simply a construct

Of the privileged –

A down trodden martyr of society.