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
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
A fuck yah to the feminists
Of fashionable morals.
Knowledge simply a construct
Of the privileged –
A down trodden martyr of society.