I let my skin be seen, therefore a slut;
My own makeup, assumed to be for man.
The way I walk, the way I talk, now smut,
So am I now viewed as harlot, well damn.
But as I dawn his garb, clothing modest,
I give, sucumb to forceful patriarch,
Lose thy control, despite his dishonest
Lies fed of how he shields thee from men’s bark,
For we are told tis our fault wolves bite us.
Thou art the source of own painful disease,
Even when we’re victims, they won’t discuss,
For we have lured foul beasts and told we tease.
But do not stand for false claims of unjust
Nor shame imposed from thy assailant's lust.