Ode to the Slut and Whore
A poem by Miss Misery Gloom
There is a type of person I really, really hate
One for which my hatred will never abate
And this type of person, which I do so abhor,
Is, my dear reader, the slut and the whore.
What they do
Is not much.
They’ll spread their legs
Or some cock they’ll munch.
Why they do this, no one knows
They sure can’t tell us on their own.
It could stem from insecurities
Or an act of rebellion; a lack of maturities.
Either way I think it’s sad
How they are slave to their gonads
And that they believe the only things they have of merit
Are their vagina and their tits.
Even if this is not true
These are the things they give the most due
These simple things that all women possess
And by doing this they’ve created quite a mess.
You see, a lot of these women think porn is empowering
A thought that leaves me ruffled and glowering
For a better example of stupidity I have yet to witness
This kind of brainlessness deserves no forgiveness.
Their reasoning is that it’s empowering because they choose to act
However, this is not even remotely fact.
What is empowering is not the choosing itself
It is the choice you make; what you choose to do with yourself.
And there is nothing at all empowering-I can tell you-
About being an object and doing things any woman can do.
This undermines everything women fought for
Instead of being forced they now choose to whore.
If a black person chose to become a slave
People would be affronted and all kinds of enraged.
But on this particular subject, no one objects.
And why? Because it has to do with sex.
Because sex, you see,
Is the thing in this world that has no bounds,
Meaning whatever you do, they will not impound.
So that leaves I,
And I alone,
To take such stupidity
And smash it home.
On this, with me, no one complies
No one will even try to see eye-to-eye.
Or at least, that is how it now appears.
You may tell me I am jealous and insecure
However, that is false; for why would I be envious
That you partake in heaps of coitus?
Still don’t believe? Then I’ll keep on blathering
And before I take my leave tell you one last thing:
There is something of which I am most proud
The things I create that make me stand out in a crowd
The thing of which you’ll find no other kind,
The thing by which I value myself,
That thing, dear reader, is