Hatred for the Whore

A Girl Who No Longer Exists
Call me Satan's daughter; shriek it to the ravens circling the sun.

I sprung not from water, but flames flickering bright black and blue,

at least according to those raw, ravenous wails coming from you.

Oh, we know hatred for the whore is all but over and all but done.

Oh, we see that hatred for the whore is centuries away from dying.

So why do we feminists keep on trying, keep on striving for more

compassion, more sympathy, and more equalness than equality?

Because when all is said and done, girls, I'm nothing but a whore.

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