creatures

we are beautifully sculpted creatures, like living statues

so delicate, fine, elegant,

perfect to be fucked.

we are loving wives, who take care of the children,

the house, the husband, the parents,

everyone — except ourselves.

how easy it is to be a woman.

you just have to be quiet and listen,

and never complain.

men have it harder anyway.

we are whores with silicone and fillers

who dress provocatively, even grotesquely.

you insult us, beat us, use us,

because when we're wearing little clothing

there’s always been a label that says

“i asked for it.”

it's not their fault — women who say no

are more attractive than those who say yes anyways.

we are mothers who are cheated on while giving birth,

beaten, abused while holding our baby.

but we are the sinners.

when we pray desperately for help from above,

we’re told we must carry our cross.

we’re not as funny as fathers,

we are daughters not as good as sons,

we are annoying sisters who just want attention.

we are gold diggers, sluts, dumb,

unreasonable, dramatic, never satisfied.

we are whatever you want us to be, because we are women

but never humans.